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B    M    IDS    31fl 


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WALTER  THOENLEY; 


OK, 


A  PEEP  AT  THE  PAST. 


BY  T1IE  AUTHOR  OP 

"ALLEN    PRESCOTT"    AND    "ALIDA." 

/        ^>e:cW    v^»    < 

L     I'  ) 


"  Our  fathers  find  their  graves  in  our  short  memories,  and  sadly  tell  us  how  we 
may  be  buried  in  our  survivors.  Generations  pass  while  some  trees  stand,  and  old 
families  last  not  three  oaks."— UKN  BURIAL,  SIR  Tnos.  BROWNE. 


NEW    YORK: 

HARPER    &    BROTHERS,    PUBLISHERS, 

FRANKLIN    SQUARE. 

1859. 


Entered,  according  to  Act  of  Congress,  in  the  year  one  thousand 
eight  hundred  and  fifty-nine,  by 

HARP Eft    &    BROTHERS, 

In  the  Clerk's  Office  of  the  District  Court  of  the  Southern  District 
of  New  York. 


??  f 


1*51 


The  light  of  early  days  and  better  years  is  reflected 
m  the  young  faces  around  me;  and  recollections  of  the 
PAST  are  united  with  gratitude  for  the  blessings  of  the 
PRESENT,  when  I  inscribe  these  pages 

TO 
MY   GRANDCHILDREN. 


M76014 


WALTER    THORNLEY, 


CHAPTEK  I. 

IN  the  village  of  Ashton,  which,  in  order  to  avoid  cu 
rious  surmises  as  to  personalities,  as  well  as  critical  in 
vestigations  as  to  accurate  topography,  it  need  only  be 
said,  was  within  the  bounds  of  Massachusetts,  there  lived 
at  the  period  to  which  the  commencement  of  the  fol 
lowing  tale  refers — 1780 — a  person  of  the  name  of  Graf- 
ton.  He  had  but  recently  become  a  resident  of  the 
place — a  fact  in  itself  of  not  much  importance,  but  which 
had  excited  no  small  speculation  among  his  neighbors. 

The  residence  Mr.  Grafton  had  chosen  was,  indeed, 
little  suited  to  his  previous  habits  and  associations.  A 
traveled  man,  a  scholar,  and  a  gentleman  without  a  fam 
ily,  it  might  well  be  supposed,  could  find  few  induce 
ments  to  adventure  into  a  rude  settlement,  in  the  vicin 
ity  of  which  the  savage  yet  lingered.  Still  there  was  no 
mystery  in  the  case.  It  was  simply  an  instance  of  idio 
syncrasy.  He  had,  though  yet  in  the  prime  of  life,  seen 
the  world,  had  participated  in  its  pleasures,  had  not  es 
caped  its  trials,  and  had  not  withheld  himself  from  its 
duties.  But  a  nervous  dislike  of  the  restraints  and  de 
mands  of  society,  co-operating  with  a  reserved  temper 
and  health  not  robust,  had  led  him  to  seek  in  retirement 
the  enjoyment  of  his  favorite  pursuits,  which  he  could 
not  disguise  to  himself  was  as  selfish  as  impracticable  in 
the  busier  haunts  of  men.  Accident  had  led  him  to  this 
particular  spot,  where  his  townsmen,  leaving  him  the 


4 

enjoyment  .of  .bis  books  and  his  time,  were  quite  willing 
to  ^commute  -hik' personal  services  for  the  pecuniary  aid 
*\  h$;  was-  at  -all- times  ready  to  contribute.  Although  not 
*  *  more  than  -thirty,,  ;hB  ttpp'eared  older ;  for  a  countenance 
marked  by  reflection,  and  an  air  of  languor,  gave  the  ef 
fect  of  more  years  than  he  had  seen.  His  manner  be 
trayed  no  consciousness  of  superiority,  and  his  dress, 
though  scrupulously  neat,  was  equally  unostentatious, 
yet  both  sufficiently  indicated  that  he  belonged  to  a 
more  cultivated  order  than  the  persons  among  whom  he 
had  taken  up  his  abode.  His  house,  to  which  a  small 
garden  was  attached,  in  size  and  style  befitted  the  small 
establishment  within,  consisting  of  himself,  a  lad  for  out- 
of-door  services,  and  one  female  domestic,  who  united  in 
herself  the  offices  of  chamber-maid,  cook,  and  house 
keeper.  Bat,  far  from  conceiving  this  to  be  derogatory, 
not  the  Diva  triformis  could  have  entertained  more  com 
placent  notions  of  her  importance  in  her  three-fold  ca 
pacity  than  did  Damie  Turner  of  hers,  as  she  passed 
through  her  several  transformations,  and  finally  attain 
ed,  at  about  five  o'clock  in  the  afternoon,  her  most  dis 
tinguished  position.  Then,  with  clean  gown,  cap,  and 
apron,  she  was  prepared  to  attend  on  Mr.  Grafton's  tea- 
table,  to  "turn  out,"  in  country  phrase,  the  refreshing 
beverage,  and  to  see  that  things  were  as  they  should  be. 
Damie,  who  rejoiced  in  the  baptismal  name  of  Dei- 
damia,  was  a  woman  of  a  "certain  age,"  whose  single 
blessedness  it  might  have  been  unjustly  suspected  no 
man  had  wished  to  disturb.  Beauty  had  never  been 
among  her  gifts,  which  was  perhaps  the  reason  of  her 
very  just  estimate  of  it — she  often  averring  that  "to  be 
pretty  behaved  was  much  better  than  to  be  pretty  look 
ing."  She  had  many  good  qualities,  was  kind-hearted 
and  upright,  and,  though  self-sufficient,  was  not  insuffi 
cient.  Mr.  Grafton,  on  his  part,  was  easily  satisfied,  and, 


A   PEEP   AT   THE   PAST.  5 

so  long  as  his  books  and  papers  were  untouched,  was 
not  unreasonably  curious  about  her  housekeeping. 
From  this  indulgence,  Damie's  power  grew  in  time  to 
overshadow  the  little  household,  Mr.  Grafton  submitting 
to  an  evil  of  his  own  creating,  by  good-naturedly  apply 
ing  the  Shandy  maxim,  "We  lose  the  right  of  complain 
ing  by  forbearing  to  use  it." 

A  fine  day  in  May  had  closed,  and,  seated  in  his 
study  chair  by  the  side  of  a  fire,  even  at  that  season  not 
unwelcome,  Mr.  Grafton  was  poring  over  a  favorite  au 
thor,  with  no  sound  to  break  the  silence  but  the  purring 
of  a  privileged  cat.  The  evening  wore  away  to  a  late 
hour.  The  lights  in  the  adjacent  dwellings,  one  after 
another,  had  been  extinguished.  He  shut  his  book,  and, 
with  his  eyes  turned  to  the  window,  and  arrested  by  a 
candle  that  still  burned  in  a  distant  part  of  the  village, 
he  applied  the  line,  which  has  so  often  occurred  to  oth 
ers, 

"  So  shines  a  good  deed  in  a  naughty  world," 

when  he  was  roused  by  the  sound  of  horses'  feet.  They 
approached,  and  appeared  to  stop  at  his  gate.  It  open 
ed,  and  in  a  moment  a  knock  announced  a  visitor — at 
such  an  hour  an  unusual  occurrence.  As  Damie  open 
ed  the  door,  a  person  entered  so  hastily  as  to  brush  out 
the  light  in  her  hand — she  always  insisted  designedly — 
and  she  could  only  discern  a  tall  figure  much  muffled, 
who,  without  heeding  her,  proceeded  quickly  toward  the 
room  in  which  Mr.  Graft-on  was  seated,  and  presented 
himself  with  the  air  of  a  gentleman,  but  with  a  counte 
nance  expressive  of  anxiety  and  urgency. 

With  a  courteous  request  to  be  seated  he  complied, 
but  without  laying  aside  his  cloak,  though  apparently 
encumbered  by  itr  and  though  the  fire  seemed  to  invite 
him  so  to  do.  His  body,  strangely  disproportioned  to 
his  face,  which  was  thin  and  rather  pale,  arrested  the 


6  WALTER   THORNLEY;    OR, 

usually  incurious  gaze  of  Mr.  Grafton,  and  an  awkward 
silence  ensued,  while  Damie  purposely  loitered  in  the 
room,  and  the  stranger  directed  his  piercing  eyes  "by 
turns  on  both.  At  length,  as  if  he  had  no  time  for  cer 
emony,  he  abruptly  requested  a  private  interview  with 
the  former. 

As  soon  as  they  were  alone,  throwing  aside  his  cloak, 
he  revealed  to  the  astonished  Mr.  Grafton  a  child  of 
about  three  years  of  age  asleep  on  his  breast,  an  attempt 
to  conceal  whom  had  so  much  added  to  his  apparent 
bulk. 

"The  little  fellow  is  so  wearied  with  his  drive,"  said 
he,  gently  disengaging  him,  "  that  I  doubt  if  he  wake  to 
night;  but  I  must  liberate  myself,  at  all  events,  for  I 
have  brief  time  for  even  a  few  words ;"  saying  which, 
and  forming  a  pallet  of  his  cloak  on  the  floor  by  his 
side,  he  laid  the  child  on  it  without  disturbing  his  slum 
ber  ;  then,  addressing  Mr.  Grafton  in  a  tone  of  confidence 
and  respect,  he  continued : 

"  Your  name  and  character,  sir,  are  known  to  me,  and 
I  can  give  no  better  proof  of  the  high  estimation  with 
which  you  have  inspired  me  than  by  the  trust  I  am  about 
to  repose  in  you.  Without  circumlocution — for,  with 
you,  truth  the  most  direct  must  be  the  most  acceptable — 
the  object  for  which  I  have  ventured  to  obtrude  myself 
upon  you  is  to  request  that  you  will  become  the  protector 
of  this  child,  without  question  of  his  birth  or  destiny ;  that 
from  this  moment  you  will  receive  him  under  your  roof, 
there  to  remain  till  claimed  by  his  natural  guardians." 

Occupied  in  a  survey  of  the  person  who  proifered  so 
unexpected  and  so  unwished-for  an  expression  of  his  re 
spect,  Mr.  Grafton  did  not  immediately  reply,  nor  was 
the  result  of  the  survey  favorable  to  the  request. 

There  was  in  the  stranger,  with  the  carriage  of  a  gen 
tleman,  an  easy  assurance  that  by  no  means  inspired 


A  PEEP  AT  THE   PAST.  7 

the  confidence  it  expressed,  while  his  eye,  quick,  intelli 
gent,  and  penetrating,  sought  rather  to  observe  than  to 
be  observed.  He  might  be  rather  younger  than  Mr. 
Grafton,  and  was  decidedly  handsome;  yet  there  were 
hard  lines,  traced  either  by  bad  passions  or  an  irregular 
life,  that  gave  a  sinister  expression  to  his  face. 

""I  wait  your  assent,  sir,"  he  continued,  with  a  slight 
frown  of  impatience,  but  in  the  blandest  tone. 

"  You  can  hardly  be  serious,"  replied  Mr.  Grafton,  "in 
expecting  an  assent  to  a  proposition  so  unqualified,  and 
unattended  by  a  single  circumstance  that  can  even  justi 
fy  my  assuming  such  a  responsibility." 

"  The  more  unqualified  the  trust,  the  greater  the  con 
fidence  reposed." 

Before  the  shuffle  could  be  detected  or  replied  to,  he 
continued :  "  And  allow  me  to  add  that  Mr.  Grafton  is 
the  last  man  living  who  would  require  to  be  justified  in 
the  performance  of  a  benevolent  action." 

"Excuse  me,  sir;  but  we  will,  if  you  please,  dispense 
with  compliments.  This  is  at  least  as  much  a  matter  of 
business  as  of  sentiment ;  and,  to  be  very  plain  with  you, 
there  must  be  strong  claims  to  induce  me  to  take  it  into 
consideration  even  for  an  instant.  If  there  are  such, 
which  is  in  the  highest  degree  improbable,  I  am  willing 
to  hear  them." 

The  stranger,  it  would  seem,  had  trusted  to  the  effect 
of  his  full  and  broad  demand  on  what  he  had  been  led 
to  consider  the  easy  temper  of  Mr.  Grafton  to  produce  a 
sort  of  amazed  compliance ;  but,  unabashed  by  its  fail 
ure,  with  persuasive  accents  he  proceeded : 

"  I  can  plead  no  claim  but  that  of  the  friendless.  This 
poor  child  is  cast  upon  you  by  the  same  Providence  that 
has  more  than  supplied  your  own  wants,  and  now  calls 
on  you  for  that  portion  of  your  care  for  which  there  is 
no  natural  claimant." 


8  WALTER  THORNLEY;  OK, 

Though  uttered  in  the  most  respectful  manner,  this 
laying  down  the  law  of  moral  obligation  by  a  stranger, 
requiring  as  a  duty  a  favor  of  such  magnitude,  was  so 
offensive  that  Mr.  Grafton  was  on  the  point  of  express 
ing  a  decided  refusal,  when  the  child — who  till  now  had 
lain  quietly — gave  signs  of  awaking,  turned  over,  stretch 
ed  his  limbs,  and  opened  his  eyes,  which  happening  to 
rest  on  his  near  neighbor,  the  fat,  beautiful  tortoise-shell 
colored  cat,  he  started  up,  and,  uttering  a  cry  of  surprise 
and  pleasure,  exclaimed,  "  Oh  pretty !  pretty !" 

What  eloquence  so  persuasive  as  the  sweet  voice  of 
infancy !  The  repellent  emotions  which  were  kindling 
in  the  breast  of  Mr.  Grafton  were  stilled.  Eepressing 
the  reply  he  was  about  to  make,  his  eye  rested  on  the 
little  being  before  him,  as,  refreshed  and  animated,  he 
scrambled  up  from  the  pallet  that  had  been  spread  for 
him,  and  sought  to  win  the  sleek  and  beautiful  animal 
by  his  caresses. 

The  appearance  of  the  child  was  well  fitted  to  fix  the 
attention  of  a  person  even  less  kindly  disposed  than  Mr. 
Grrafton  toward  such  sometimes  wayward  sprites.  His 
sturdy  little  figure,  his  finely-formed  and  well-set  head, 
covered  with  luxuriant  curls,  which  yet  permitted  the  ex 
posure  of^ms  fair  forehead ;  his  bright  eye,  his  ruby  lip, 
scarce  passed  from  the  rose-bud  of  infancy  to  the  better- 
defined  lines  which  develop  it  a  little  later;  the  dim 
pled  cheek,  the  joyous  laugh,  the  graceful  attitudes  into 
which  he  unconsciously  threw  himself  in  his  gambols 
with  puss,  the  warm  light  shed  by  the  fire,  presented  a 
study  for  a  painter  as  well  as  an  appeal  to  a  philanthro 
pist,  and  Mr.  Grafton  felt  his  refusal  melt  away  in  a  gush 
of  kindness  and  pity.  He  began  to  take  a  new  view  of 
the  matter,  to  seek  in  his  heart  excuses  for  what  ap 
peared  to  his  judgment  a  piece  of  Quixotism.  "  Sup 
pose  I  am  a  bachelor,  unskilled  in  the  care  and  training 


A  PEEP  AT  THE  PAST.  9 

of  a  child,  I  am  the  more  unembarrassed  by  any  con 
flicting  duties ;  and  my  beloved  quiet — I  shall  but  enjoy 
it  the  more  if  it  be  sometimes  interrupted." 

The  distrust,  too,  which  he  felt  for  the  stranger  in 
creased  his  compassion  for  the  child.  "Shall  I  leave 
him,"  he  thought,  "  perhaps  to  an  evil  destiny,  when  it 
is  asked  of  me  to  rescue  him?"  But  Damie — there  was 
the  rub;  "she  would  probably  object  to  her  share  of 
the  additional  burden,  and  he  should  deprive  himself  of 
her  services,  or  be  involved  in  domestic  jars.  What 
then?  Should  he  for  such  a  consideration  reject  the 
little  creature  thus  cast  on  his  mercy  ?  No ;  Damie,  im 
portant  as  she  was,  might  go,  the  child  should  stay." 

The  stranger  eyed  him  attentively,  and  read  in  the 
softened  expression  of  his  face  the  operation  of  new 
feelings. 

"  You  consent,  then,  I  perceive,  sir,"  said  he.  "  You 
justify  my  hopes,  and  secure  to  yourself  the  reward  of 
the  beneficent.  That,"  rising,  and  presenting  a  letter, 
"  contains  all  that  it  is  necessary  to  communicate.  Fare 
well.  I  must  be  many  miles  from  here  before  the  dawn," 
and  hastily  wrapping  himself  in  his  cloak,  as  if  about  to 
leave  the  room,  he  paused  a  moment,  and  fixed  a  part 
ing  glance  on  the  child. 

"  I  must  leave  him  without  his  knowledge,"  continued 
he  in  an  under  tone,  rather  as  if  addressing  himself;  "  he 
would  resist  my  doing  so  were  he  aware  of  it,  though, 
when  I  am  gone,  he  will  be  easily  pacified."  Then,  with 
an  inclination  of  the  head,  a  finger  on  his  lip  to  request 
silence,  and  a  quick  inaudible  step,  he  vanished  as  if  in 
corporeal,  leaving  Mr.  Grafton  time  neither  for  farther 
question  nor  reflection.  He  held  for  some  moments  me 
chanically  the  letter  committed  to  him,  scarcely  sure  if 
he  were  not  in  a  dream,  so  strange  and  sudden  had  been 
the  revolution  wrought  in  his  quiet  abode.  Curiosity, 

A2 


10  WALTER  THORNLEY;    OB, 

however,  soon  prompted  to  a  perusal  of  it.     It  contained 
a  small  sum  of  money  and  the  following  lines : 

"  His  name  is  "Walter  Thornley ;  his  age  three  years. 
A  valise,  containing  such  clothing  as  is  at  present  neces 
sary  for  him,  will  be  found  at  your  door.  Funds  shall 
from  time  to  time  be  remitted  for  his  support.  He  is 
not  to  be  sent  to  a  public  school ;  but  his  education  must 
nevertheless  be  that  which  befits  a  gentleman.  You  will 
not  communicate  the  circumstances  under  which  he  has 
been  confided  to  you,  yet  an  appearance  of  mystery  is 
to  be  avoided.  Curiosity  is  not  to  be  excited." 

The  easy  impudence  of  these  requirements  by  the 
obliged  party  provoked  a  smile. 

11 A  pretty  fellow,  truly!"  exclaimed  Mr.  Grafton; 
"  imposes  on  me  the  trouble  of  rearing  and  instructing 
his  child,  and  dictates  the  manner  with  the  air  of  a  sov 
ereign  prescribing  the  education  of  his  heir  apparent  I" 

In  the  mean  time  Damie,  who  had  heard  the  stranger 
withdraw,  and  who  was  by  no  means  superior  to  the  in 
firmity  common  to  all  persons  excluded  from  confer 
ences,  entered,  with  some  ready  excuse  for  her  reap 
pearance,  when  the  sight  of  the  child  struck  her  dumb. 
Looking  from  him  to  Mr.  Grafton,  from  Mr.  Grafton  to 
the  child,  she  stood  silent  and  motionless.  At  length, 
recovering  her  speech,  she  exclaimed,  as  she  seated  her 
self  in  the  nearest  chair,  "  Well,  if  I  ain't  beat !" 

Mr.  Grafton  was  sufficiently  disposed  to  obey  the  last 
injunction  of  the  letter.  He  had  no  mind  to  be  a  village 
wonder,  to  prevent  which,  he  quietly  remarked  that 
"the  child  had  been  placed  under  his  guardianship,  and 
that  he  and  she  must  make  the  best  of  it." 

This  did  not  satisfy  Damie,  who,  bursting  with  ques 
tions  as  to  "who?"  "what?"  and  "where?"  condensed 


A  PEEP  AT  THE  PAST.  11 

all  into  one,  which  she  trusted  would  lead  to  a  solution 
of  every  other. 

"  What  is  his  name  ?"  she  inquired. 

Mr.  Grafton  informed  her,  adding,  with  affected  indif 
ference,  uncertain  as  yet  how  this  addition  to  her  cares 
would  be  regarded,  "You  see,  Damie,  that  you  and  I 
can  not  shut  ourselves  out  from  the  troubles  of  the  world 
any  more  than  others.  If  we  do  not  seek  them,  they 
come  to  us." 

The  child,  meanwhile,  all  unconscious  that  his  destiny 
had  passed  into  other  hands,  was  pursuing  puss  from 
one  covert  to  another,  till  she  had  ensconced  herself  un 
der  the  chair  occupied  by  Damie,  who,  not  yet  decided 
in  what  light  to  regard  the  little  intruder,  was  following 
him  about  with  her  eyes  in  mute  perplexity. 

At  this  juncture  the  cat,  who,  among  her  immunities, 
chiefly  valued  her  quiet  nap  before  the  study  fire,  who 
had  not  been  so  hunted  about  since  she  was  a  kitten, 
and,  though  she  "  wore  motley,"  had  no  fancy  to  play 
the  fool,  grew  tired  of  having  her  well-dressed  whiskers 
twitched,  her  tail  pulled,  and  her  smooth  coat  of  many 
colors  brushed  the  wrong  way.  When,  therefore,  she 
had  gained  her  last  retreat,  and  her  indefatigable  pur 
suer,  with  a  cry  of  exultation,  seized  her,  she  turned  on 
the  defensive,  and  inflicted  such  vengeance  with  her 
talons,  that  he  was  obliged,  though  not  without  a  brave 
struggle  for  victory,  to  release  her,  uttering  at  the  same 
time  a  scream  of  pain,  and  holding  up  his  bleeding  chub 
by  hand  with  an  imploring  look  to  Damie. 

Mr.  Grafton  was  at  rest;  the  crisis  was  favorable; 
Damie  caught  him  in  her  arms,  beat  puss,  and  kissed 
his  hand;  and  the  little  fellow,  moaning  with  pain,  re 
clined  on  her  bosom  till  he  completely  subdued  her. 

"He  has  cried  himself  to  sleep,"  said  Mr.  Grafton; 
"where  will  you  lay  him  for  the  night,  Damie?" 


12  WALTER  THORNLEY;  OR, 

"Where?"  repeated  she;  "why  in  my  own  bed,  be 
sure.  The  poor  little  cre'ter  sha'n't  never  sleep  nowhere 
else."  And  there,  accordingly,  he  was  safely  bestowed 
with  no  sense  of  suffering  or  desertion. 

In  the  morning,  however,  strange  voices  and  objects 
disturbed  him.  The  images  which  frolic  and  pain  had 
chased  away  returned.  He  looked  in  vain  for  some  fa 
miliar  face,  till,  disappointed  and  confounded,  he  threw 
himself  back  on  his  pillow,  covered  his  eyes,  and  cried 
aloud  for  some  one,  but  with  such  imperfect  articulation 
that  the  united  efforts  of  Mr.  Grafton  and  Damie  could 
make  nothing  intelligible  of  the  sounds. 

"  Poor  boy !"  said  Mr.  Grafton,  sadly,  "  he  calls  for 
those  who  can  not  hear,  and  who  would  not  if  they 
could.  Fortunately,  his  tender  mind  will  soon  yield  to 
other  impressions." 

In  effecting  this  change,  the  fearless  temper  of  the 
child  much  aided.  He  was  soon  won  by  kindness,  and 
reposed  himself  without  distrust  on  his  new  friends, 
though  his  heaving  bosom  and  occasional  sobs  indicated 
that  his  little  heart  was  troubled.  For  days  his  anxious 
glance  was  directed  to  every  opening  door,  and  an  ap 
proaching  footstep  would  arrest  his  attention  in  the  midst 
of  his  play.  In  her  endeavors  to  soothe  him,  Damie 
found  his  first  acquaintance,  puss,  an  able  coadjutor. 
Having  instructed  him  so  to  caress  as  not  to  irritate  her, 
she  skillfully  combined  something  of  responsibility  and 
occupation  with  amusement  by  making  it  his  business 
to  feed  her,  an  office  that  so  delighted  him  that  his  own 
meal  was  often  left  untasted  till  he  should  place  her 
saucer  of  milk  and  her  morsel  of  meat.  Amid  her  kind 
attentions  to  the  little  stranger,  Damie's  curiosity  re 
mained  as  unsatisfied  and  as  eager  as  ever ;  and,  finding 
Mr.  Grafton  insensible  to  all  her  hints,  her  woman's  in 
genuity  was  set  to  work  to  extract  information  from  the 


A  PEEP  AT  THE  PAST.  13 

child  himself.  Here  she  was  alike  unsuccessful.  In 
vain  she  tried  and  pumped ;  asked  about  father,  mother, 
brothers,  sisters,  home;  and  she  at  length  relinquished 
the  attempt  to  interpret  words  which,  as  the  past  was  in 
part  effaced  by  new  impressions,  seemed  fewer  and  more 
unintelligible  at  every  trial.  The  valise,  which  had 
been  the  first  object  of  her  investigation,  was  found  to 
contain  a  supply  of  clothing,  but  no  marks.  It  was  evi 
dent  that  pains  had  been  taken  to  efface  them  from  a 
few  articles  more  worn,  and  of  finer  materials,  and  which 
were  ornamented  as  mothers  love  to  deck  their  darlings. 
But  the  greater  number  were  plain,  and  appeared  not  to 
have  had  any.  The  former  Damie  abstracted  for  rea 
sons  of  her  own. 

"  They  ain't  no  use  now ;  he's  most  grown  out  of  'em ; 
and  who  knows  but  they  may  be  wanted  some  day  to 
sartify  to  the  child?" 

The  benevolence  of  Mr.  Grafton  soon  gathered  its  re 
ward.  The  little  being  thus  strangely  imposed  on  him, 
as  if  conscious  of  peculiar  obligations,  seemed  to  strive 
to  make  the  only  return  in  his  power — his  caresses  and 
obedience. 

Without  disturbing  the  quiet,  he  infused  cheerfulness 
into  the  hitherto  joyless  dwelling.  By  a  sort  of  instinct 
he  seemed  to  know  when  he  must  suppress  and  when  he 
might  indulge  his  merriment,  and 

"Provoke 
A  partnership  in  play." 

If  Mr.  Grafton  were  reading,  Walter  remained  immov 
able  on  his  little  cricket,  and  addressed  his  inseparable 
companion,  puss,  in  whispers.  But  when  the  book  was 
laid  aside,  and  his  "  uncle,"  as  he  was  instructed  to  call 
his  guardian,  at  leisure,  he  knew  he  was  permitted  to 
approach,  to  mount  his  knee  unchidden,  and  to  ask  for 
the  oft-repeated,  never-wearying  story  which  Mr.  Graf- 


14  WALTER  THORNLEY;  OR, 

ton — himself  a  child  in  simplicity  and  tenderness — soon 
learned  to  adapt  to  his  auditor.  Day  after  day  was  told 
the  tale 

"Of  orphan  babes, 
With  berries  smear'd,  with  brambles  torn," 

of  dutiful  but  unfortunate  Eed  Eiding-hood ;  of  the  mar 
velous  bean-pole,  the  top  of  which,  like  the  fabled  sum 
mit  of  Demavend,  was  nearer  heaven  than  earth ;  of  the 
magic  slipper,  and  the  beneficent  fairy,  and  all  the  fan 
tastic  tales  of  the  olden  time,  which,  after  amusing  the 
nurseries  of  our  granddames,  furnish  the  drama  of  their 
adult  descendants.  But,  above  all,  Walter  delighted  in 
the  wonderful  achievements  of  "  Puss  in  Boots,"  and 
nearly  renewed  the  ancient  battle  between  himself  and 
his  four-footed  friend  by  an  attempt  to  force  her  into  the 
same  unseemly  guise.  Then,  changing  his  theme,  Mr. 
Grafton  would  descend  from  these  legends  to  the  expe 
rience  of  common  mortals,  and  inculcate  a  moral  from 
the  fate  of  those  who  had  neither  fairies  to  befriend  nor 
ogres  to  distress  them ;  of  good  boys,  like  himself,  and 
of  bad  ones  whom  "nobody  loved"— a  predicament,  of 
all  others,  terrible  to  Walter.  At  other  times,  in  the 
scene  of  Damie's  labors,  with  the  irrepressible  activity 
of  children,  he  proffered  his  "  hindering  help,"  by  which, 
if  her  work  was  not  advanced,  he  was  amused,  and  she 
was  not  displeased.  Sometimes,  his  powers  and  faculties 
suspended  on  the  revolutions  of  her  wheel,  he  would  sit 
silent  and  motionless,  his  eye  following,  as  with  slow, 
retreating  step  she  mysteriously  extended  the  roll  into  v 
the  long  and  slender  thread ;  then  would  come  the  rous 
ing  turn  which  was  to  render  it  fine,  and  smooth,  and 
strong;  and  then,  after  a  momentary  inverted  motion 
of  her  wheel,  it  was  carried  to  the  point  of  the  spindle, 
which  seemed  to  Walter  to  swallow  up  the  yarn  as  fast 
as  Damie  could  spin  it.  To  the  hum  of  her  wheel  she 


A   PEEP  AT  THE   PAST.  15 

added  a  song  as  monotonous ;  yet,  as  if  his  ear  were  at 
tuned  to  sound,  and  could  catch  its  slightest  variations, 
he  listened  with  satisfaction,  and  was  impatient  of  inter 
ruption. 

To  his  amusement  succeeded  his  instruction,  and  Da- 
mie  was  advanced  from  his  nurse  to  his  dame.  The  la 
bors  of  the  day  over,  she  assumed,  with  her  afternoon's 
better  apparel,  the  office  of  schoolmistress,  taught  him  to 
repeat  the  strange  characters  of  his  horn-book,  and  to 
utter  those  first  simple  combinations  that  were  to  be  to 
him  in  after  years  the  key  to  knowledge.  His  aptitude 
and  docility  rendered  commands  and  punishments  un 
necessary.  His  attention  seldom  wandered  but  when 
puss  coaxingly  rubbed  alongside,  inviting  a  brush  from 
his  familiar  hand ;  and  then  a  tap  from  Damie's  knitting- 
needle,  the  extent  of  her  penal  administration,  soon  re- 
•called  it. 


16  WALTER  THORNLEY;  OR, 


CHAPTER  II. 

YEARS  passed,  and  Walter,  having  acquired  all  that 
Damie  could  teach,  was  not  slow  to  apply  the  key  with 
which  she  had  furnished  him.  The  Bible,  almost  the 
only  book  she  was  acquainted  with,  notwithstanding 
that  she  had  used  it  as  one  of  primary  instruction,  he 
continued  to  peruse  with  interest,  if  not  with  "  spirit- 
1  ual  discernment."  The  wonders  it  unfolded,  the  hero 
ism,  suffering,  and  fidelity  it  recorded,  expanded  his 
young  mind,  while  Mr.  Grafton  was  careful  to  impress 
the  lesson  which  might  else  have  escaped  his  perception, 
and  to  direct  his  excited  sensibilities  to  the  Being  whose 
character  it  revealed.  There  were  not  then,  as  now, 
books  for  all  ages ;  and,  when  Walter  humbly  requested 
"  something  to  read,"  Mr.  Grafton  despairingly  raised 
his  eyes  to  his  well -filled  shelves,  where  ancient  and 
modern  tongues  poured  forth  their  treasures,  but  only 
for  those  who  had  earned  them  by  hard  and  patient 
study. 

The  eager  desire  of  Walter  for  knowledge  was  not, 
however,  to  remain  unsatisfied.  It  became  an  addition 
al  tie  between  him  and  his  guardian,  who,  thus  won  from 
his  more  dignified  pursuits  to  the  personal  instruction  of 
a  child,  supplied  by  oral  teaching  the  deficiencies  of  the 
period.  This  was  fortunate  for  both.  It  withdrew  Mr. 
Grafton  from  occupations  which,  if  they  could  not  ex 
tinguish  his  sympathies,  prevented  their  full  exercise ; 
and  it  brought  Walter's  mind  into  more  frequent  com 
munion  with  one  not  less  pure  and  good  than  it  was 
rich  and  beautiful;  and  while  Mr.  Grafton  created  or 
found — we  leave  to  others  to  choose  between  the  exist- 


A   PEEP   AT   THE   PAST.  17 

ence  or  not  of  original  propensities — a  correspondence  in 
his  pupil  with,  his  own  poetic  temperament,  which  open 
ed  a  new  source  of  sympathy,  he  thought  he  could  al 
ready  discern,  too,  the  germ  of  a  character  sufficiently 
strong  to  resist  the  illusions  it  loves. 

As  Walter's  mind  advanced,  Mr.  Grafton  fed  it  "  with 
food  convenient;"  and  study,  hard,  pains-taking  study, 
succeeded  to  the  hitherto  less  arduous  method.  Diffi 
culties  only  increased  his  zeal.  They  were  surmounted 
with  an  ease  that  at  once  surprised  and  gratified  his  in 
structor;  but,  nevertheless,  Mr.  Grafton  was  sometimes 
doubtful  if  an  education  so  entirely  secluded  did  not  ex 
ceed  the  injunctions  imposed  on  him.  He  feared,  too, 
its  effect  on  the  temper  of  the  boy,  who,  though  both 
fearless  and  kind,  was  exclusive  and  self-dependent  to  a 
degree  not  consistent  with  the  ordinary  condition  of 
man,  which  makes  it  at  once  a  necessity  and  a  virtue  to 
confide  in  his  fellows. 

Though  a  small  settlement  in  a  rude  country,  there 
was  of  course — being  in  New  England — a  school.  To 
this  Walter  was  now  sent,  not  so  much  for  its  ostensible 
advantages  as  to  bring  him  into  union,  and  peradventure 
into  collision,  with  those  of  his  own  age.  Here  he  was 
soon  distinguished  by  his  industry,  quickness,  and  obe 
dience.  His  truth,  courage,  and  generosity  had  their 
natural  effect  on  his  companions.  He  was  on  good 
terms  with  all,  but  a  certain  sense  of  uncongeniality  on 
both  sides  prevented  intimacy.  Yet  he  mingled  in  the 
usual  sports  of  his  age,  for  which  his  fine  physique  well 
fitted  him ;  and  such  were  his  fairness  and  good-nature 
that,  though  generally  excelling,  he  excited  no  envy. 
All  yielded  to  Walter  Thornley,  whether  at  book  or 
ball,  as  if  the  attempt  were  vain  to  outstrip  one  whom 
Nature  had  marked  as  her  favorite. 

His  fourteenth  year  was  now  completed,  and  it  may 


18  WALTER  THORKLEY;  OK, 

be  asked,  had  no  clue  offered  to  the  mystery  that  in 
volved  him  ?  and  was  he  himself  aware  of  it  ?  So  far 
from  a  solution,  the  enigma  was  the  more  complete,  in 
asmuch  as  the  remittances,  gradually  diminishing,  had 
soon  ceased  altogether.  Though  pained,  as  it  regarded 
Walter,  by  this  apparent  desertion  on  the  part  of  his 
natural  friends,  Mr.Grafton  rejoiced  for  himself.  Pecu 
niary  considerations  were  of  little  importance  to  him. 
Not  rich,  he  had  yet  enough  for  the  moderate  wants  of 
himself  and  his.  ward,  and  could  not  deeply  regret  what 
seemed  to  secure  an  undivided  right  in  one  whom  he 
felt  daily  more  necessary  to  his  happiness.  In  reply  to 
the  inquiries  of  Walter  he  had  carefully  avoided  what 
ever  would  excite  a  curiosity  he  could  not  gratify.  He 
had  represented  him  as  an  orphan,  because  such  he  be 
lieved  him  virtually  to  be ;  and,  evading  farther  particu 
lars,  he  hoped  to  preserve  his  mind,  at  least  during  its 
tender  state,  from  a  knowledge,  the  effect  of  which  he 
dreaded  on  one  of  his  temperament. 

But,  though  Walter  acquiesced  in  the  silence  of  his 
guardian,  there  were  yet  certain  vague  reminiscences 
lingering  in  his  mind,  like  visions  of  a  pre-existence, 
which  strangely  perplexed  him,  and  which  he  cherished 
as  persons  of  a  poetic  imagination  dwell  upon  their 
dreams,  as  something  that  carries  them  beyond  the 
common  and  the  limited  into  the  unrestricted  regions 
of  the  ideal  and  the  extraordinary,  where  they  may  in 
dulge  in  thought  and  emotion  forbidden  within  the  sober 
confines  of  reality.  Like  dreams,  he  feared  that  they, 
too,  would  vanish  into  insignificance  if  reduced  to  lan 
guage,  which  seemed  incapable  of  "  bodying"  the  faint 
traces,  the  scarce  perceptible  connections,  the  momentary 
associations,  which  came  and  went  like  shadows  over  the 
surface  of  memory.  There  were  visions  of  a  lady  who 
smiled  and  wept,  who  caressed  and  soothed ;  of  spacious 


A   PEEP   AT   THE   PAST.  19 

rooms,  and  beautiful  wanderings  among  flowers ;  of  lying 
on  the  soft  grass  that  seemed  to  spread  immeasurably 
around  him ;  then  of  restraint  and  authority,  and  a  tall, 
dark  man ;  then  of  noise  and  fright,  the  dashing  of  wa 
ters,  and  the  roar  of  winds.  Then  all  was  a  blank  till 
Mr.  Grafton,  Damie,  and  puss  filled  up  the  vacancy. 
How  much  of  this  could  be  traced  to  original  first  im 
pressions  ;  how  much  had  been  afterward  supplied  by 
ideas  which,  as  the  mind  received  them,  fitted  into  and 
perfected  its  half-formed  imagery,  he  could  not  ascer 
tain,  nor  did  he  desire  to  do  so.  It  was  a  part  of  him 
self,  and  as  such  he  clung  to  it. 

Many  circumstances  of  Walter's  condition  co-operated 
with  these  impressions,  in  giving  that  turn  to  his  mind 
which,  invidiously  termed  "romantic,"  is  but  another 
name  for  quick  sensibilities  and  generous  impulses,  crav 
ing  objects  and  opportunities  above  the  comprehension 
or  desire  of  ordinary  men.  His  secluded  and  simple 
habits  left  imagination  to  its  own  creations,  unshackled 
by  the  forms  of  artificial  life — the  most  effectual  of  seda 
tives  ;  at  the  same  time  that  its  freedom,  invigorating  to 
mind  and  body,  preserved  him  from  the  sickly  sentimen 
tality  of  a  dreaming  boy.  Without  apprehensions  of 
their  Indian  neighbors,  many  of  whom  were  the  subjects 
of  religious  instruction,  and  perfect  in  the  woodcraft  of 
the  place,  Walter,  with  his  gun  and  dog,  fearlessly  roam 
ed  the  forest  which  still  closely  skirted  the  village. 
There,  threading  its  mazes,  penetrating  its  deep  recesses, 
looking  up  to  catch  the  sunbeam  that  could  scarce  find 
its  way  to  his  path,  or  provoking  its  echoes  with  his 
rich  musical  voice,  he  was  unconscious  of  a  want. 

To  this  temper,  allied  to  whatever  was  beautiful, 
Walter's  reading  had  also  contributed ;  some  of  which, 
if  it  answered  no  other  end,  at  least  preserved  him  from 
low  associations  and  vulgar  pleasures.  Among  graver 


20  WALTER  THORNLEY;  OR, 

matter  in  Mr.  Grafton's  library,  he  had  found  records  of 
that  picturesque  age  which,  as  M.  de  Sismondi  skeptical 
ly  asserts,  always  eluding  our  investigation,  is  ever  a  lit 
tle  farther  than  we  can  penetrate.  "Plus  on  etude 
1'histoire,  et  plus  on  voit  que  la  chevalerie  est  une  in 
vention  presque  absolument  poetique ;  on  n'arrive  ja- 
mais  a  trouver  par  des  documens  authentiques  la  pays 
ou  elle  regnait:  toujours  elle  est  represente  a  distance 
et  pour  les  lieux  et  pour  le  terns."  But  to  Walter,  his 
imagination  fired  by  the  idea  of  devoted  pages,  trained 
in  every  gentle  and  manly  service,  and  destined  to  a 
career  of  faith,  humanity,  and  courtesy,  it  seemed  as  real 
as  the  skies  above  him. 

A  favorite  ramble  of  his  was  along  the  river,  which, 
after  passing  near  the  village,  proceeded  for  more  than  a 
mile  beyond  it  in  a  tolerably  direct  course.  It  then 
took  a  sharper  turn,  and  dashed  over  a  rocky  ledge,  fall 
ing  from  a  height  of  fifty  or  sixty  feet  into  a  ravine, 
over  the  stony  bottom  of  which  it  found  its  way  into  an 
other  part  of  the  town,  where  a  few  houses  were  known 
as  the  "  South  End."  Then,  escaping  from  every  ob 
struction,  it  resumed  its  full  and  placid  course  till  it  pass 
ed  far  beyond  the  bounds  of  Ash  ton.  The  richly- wood 
ed  sides  of  the  ravine  that  shut  in  the  river  permitted  a 
walk  along  its  margin,  by  which  a  fearless  foot  might 
gain  the  summit.  There,  on  one  side,  a  small  grassy  plat 
closed  in  with  trees  afforded  an  inviting  resting-place  to 
the  adventurer,  whence  he  might  gaze  into  the  chasm,  or 
be  lulled  to  sleep  by  the 

"Water's  fall  with  difference  discreet, 
Now  soft,  now  loud." 

On  both  sides  of  the  ledge  over  which  the  waters  fell 
projecting  masses  of  rock  had  suggested  the  idea  of  a 
bridge,  these  furnishing  secure  abutments.  But  the 
arts  were  still  young  in  Ashton.  The  trunk  of  a  largo 


A  PEE?  AT  THE  PAST,  21 

tree  which  had  accidentally  fallen  just  beyond  the  cata 
ract,  and  to  which  others  had  been  added,  served  in  place 
of  a  more  artificial  structure  to  those  persons  with  steady 
nerves,  who,  to  save  time,  went  by  this  shorter  cut  from 
Ashtonto  "South  End." 

The  place  had,  too,  its  legend  to  add  to  its  attrac 
tions.  In  a  conflict  near  it  of  two  hostile  native  tribes, 
the  daughter  of  the  vanquished  chief,  hotly  pursued  by 
the  victors,  to  escape  captivity  was  said  to  have  thrown 
herself  from  the  rocks  that  overhung  the  ravine.  A 
sycamore,  not  far  from  where  she  took  the  fatal  leap, 
marked  the  spot.  It  was  old,  and  the  winds  had  played 
roughly  with  it ;  but  as  it  reared  its  broken  trunk  and 
white  branches  above  the  underwood  that  partiallv  con 
cealed  it,  it  justified,  in  the  delusive  lights  and  shadows 
of  the  night,  the  fancies  of  the  country-folk ;  who,  as 
the  story  ran,  had  often  seen  a  gigantic  phantom  raising 
its  arms,  and  in  the  act  of  precipitating  itself  into  the 
abyss.  Be  this  as  it  may,  pity  and  superstition  had  con 
secrated  it. 

It  was  Walter's  delight  to  pick  his  way  along  the 
stone-strewed  margin,  till,  having  reached  nearly  the 
base  of  the  fall,  he  contrived,  by  the  aid  of  fissures,  pro 
jections,  and  saplings — the  tough  nurslings  of  the  rocks 
— to  gain  by  zig-zag  approaches  the  summit.  There, 
throwing  himself  on  the  soft  grass  that  seemed  spread 
for  his  reception,  a  vague  foreshadowing  might  some 
times  suggest  to  him  that  such  was  life — its  high  places 
only  to  be  attained  by  hard  and  adventurous  toil.  Nor 
would  his  ardent  young  spirit  have  been  discouraged  by 
the  admonition  that,  even  when  thus  gained,  they  are 
often,  alas!  like  a  scant  and  dizzy  height,  "too  narrow 
for  friendship,  and  too  slippery  for  repose." 

But  an  exclusive  companionship  with  nature,  Mr. 
Grafton  would  not  permit ;  and  more  for  his  pupil's  ad- 


22  WALTER  THORNLEY;    OR, 

vantage  than  his  own  gratification,  he  sought,  as  Walter 
grew  older,  what  society  the  place  afforded.  The  pro 
fessions  were  represented  by  the  village  pastor,  lawyer, 
and  physician.  These,  with  their  families,  and  a  few 
others,  served  to  cultivate  those  feelings  without  which 
our  nature  is  stinted  and  but  half-grown.  They  were 
all  respectable  men  in  their  way.  Dr.  Mills,  undisturbed 
by  old  or  new  schools  of  medicine,  by  allopathy,  homoeo 
pathy,  or  hydropathy,  killed  and  cured  to  the  general 
satisfaction.  Squire  Whiting,  when  he  could  not  settle 
a  difference  amicably  as  a  referee,  fought  the  battle 
stoutly  as  an  advocate.  But  first,  in  all  respects,  was 
good  Dr.  Jarvis.  Those  were  the  days  of  reverence,  when 
the  clergyman's  well-worn  black  suit — coat,  breeches, 
and  worsted  stockings ;  his  steel  shoe-buckles,  cane,  and 
pocket-comb ;  his  rusty  cocked  hat,  even  from  its  peg 
behind  him  in  his  pulpit  on  the  Sabbath,  inspired  more 
respect  than  the  young  of  the  present  time  are  capable 
of  feeling  for  any  thing.  It  is  fair  to  say,  however,  that 
Dr.  Jarvis  had  stronger  claims  than  even  these.  To 
much  of  the  learning  of  his  period  and  profession,  he 
added  a  kindly  nature  and  the  manners  of  a  gentleman. 
Though  none  could  more  pertinaciously  defend  their 
tenets,  nor  maintain  a  more  uncompromising  warfare 
with  gainsayers,  yet,  when  these  had  passed  the  confines 
of  this  world,  there  was  none  whose  charity  was  so  earn 
est  in  devising  an  escape  for  them  from  the  very  fate  he 
had  denounced  against  them.  His  feelings,  indeed,  what 
ever  he  might  say — and  he  did  say  many  things  as  hard 
to  bear  as  to  understand — were  in  charity  with  all  men, 
and  it  was  sometimes  surmised  that  to  indemnify  him 
self  for  what  he  deemed  necessary  severity  to  the  living- 
he  dealt  thus  mercifully  with  the  dead. 

It  was  not  a  small  benefit  that  Mr.  Grafton  derived 
from  his  guardianship  that  he  was  thus  drawn  from  a 


A  PEEP  AT  THE   PAST.  23 

morbid  love  of  solitude ;  and  that  by  his  good-natured 
polemics  with  Dr.  Jarvis,  his  disputed  points  of  law  with 
Squire  Whiting,  his  incredulous  but  patient  acceptance 
of  Dr.  Mills's  remedies,  and  his  hospitalities  to  all,  the 
little  courtesies  of  life  were  kept  alive. 

Among  other  apparently  insignificant  circumstances 
that  went  to  make  up  the  experience  and  character  of 
Walter,  was  his  intercourse  with  one  who,  though  among 
the  humblest  in  Ashton,  filled  a  place  that  no  one  else 
could  fill.  This  was  Jedediah  Cooley,  otherwise  "  Jed," 
by  which  abbreviation  he  was  universally  known,  to  the 
practical  oblivion  of  his  patronymic.  He  had  been  a 
Eevolutionary  soldier,  and  was  at  this  time  a  pensioner, 
and,  moreover,  peddler,  fiddler,  fisherman,  sportsman, 
and  songster.  His  fund  of  military  anecdotes,  of  songs, 
and  personal  adventure,  recommended  him  to  the  young, 
and,  in  addition  to  this,  between  himself  and  Walter  had 
been  early  established  certain  sporting  sympathies.  He 
had  been  his  instructor  in  all  sylvan  arts ;  services  that 
had  been  well  repaid,  for,  besides  minor  good  offices, 
when  a  "  season  of  sickness"  had  occurred — a  period  to 
which  Jed  was  fond  of  alluding — Walter  had  proved 
himself  both  efficient  and  grateful. 


2-i  WALTER  THORNLEY;  OK, 


CHAPTEE  III. 

THE  winter  had  been  long  and  severe;  and  as  the 
punishment  of  many  acts  of  "  downright  presumption," 
as  Damie  did  not  scruple  to  say,  with  the  opening 
spring  Mr.  Grafton  was  attacked  by  rheumatism  so  se 
verely  as  to  call  for  more  attention  than  he  was  disposed 
to  pay  to  himself.  Having  resisted  all  domestic  nos 
trums,  Damie,  with  equal  confidence,  asserted  that  it 
could  only  be  cured  by  "the  Pool"— the  popular  name 
then  given  to  the  Sulphur  Spring  at  Lebanon.  "Doc 
tors'  stuff,"  which,  with  a  common  inconsistency,  she  be 
lieved  in  only  when  administered  by  herself,  and  of 
which  she  would  have  said,  in  the  words  of  the  quaint 
old  drama, 

"It  doth  them  more  good,  when  they  sellit, 
Than  all  the  buyers  who  take  or  smell  it," 

"wouldn't  be  of  no  use." 

Lebanon  was  at  the  distance  of  nearly  two  days' jour 
ney — something  of  an  undertaking  to  stay-at-home  per 
sons.  It  had,  too,  or  was  supposed  to  have,  its  perils. 
The  road,  through  a  hilly  and  rough  country,  was  much 
neglected,  and,  as  some  reported,  absolutely  dangerous. 
This,  however,  was  not  one  of  the  things  of  which  Mr. 
Grafton  made  much  account,  though  their  good  pastor, 
on  the  Sabbath  preceding  his  departure,  did  think  ilfex- 
pedient  to  "  put  up,"  as  the  phrase  went,  prayers  for  his 
safe-conduct — a  devout  practice  in  keeping  with  the 
times,  and  one  which  the  present  generation,  who  trust 
themselves  so  recklessly  to  a  blind  and  irresistible  force, 
might  do  well  to  imitate. 

Storing  the  wagon,  at  the  suggestion  of  Damie,  with 


A   PEEP   AT   THE   PAST.  25 

such  comforts  as  in  the  then  accommodations  of  the 
place  might  not  be  found,  and  with  Walter  as  compan 
ion,  attendant,  and  driver,  one  fine  day  in  the  middle  of 
June  Mr.  Grafton  bade  Damie  farewell,  who,  shading  her 
eyes  with  her  hand,  looked  after  them  as  long  as  they 
could  be  seen,  with  more  anxiety  than  is  now  manifest 
ed  when  a  steamer  parts  its  moorings  for  an  Atlantic 
voyage. 

"Well,"  said  she,  as  she  re-entered  the  house,  and 
busied  herself  with  its  adjustment,  "  they  are  off — the 
Lord  have  marcy  on  'em !  Walter  is  a  helpful  lad,  and 
will  see  that  the  cre'ters  are  well  looked  a'ter ;  but  he 
can't  do  nothin'  for  the  rheumatiz' ;  and  Mr.  Grafton, 
take  him  out  of  his  books,  though  he  is  the  best  man 
ever  I  see,  isn't  much." 

Ponder  this,  you  who  insist  that  knowledge,  per  se,  is 
power. 

Toward  the  close  of  the  second  day  they  reached  the 
little  village  of  Lebanon,  without  any  of  the  accidents 
that  had  been  predicted. 

On  the  side  of  the  high  hill  which  rose  above  it  two 
houses  offered  themselves  for  their  accommodation,  both 
sufficiently  unpretending,  but  the  lower  one  more  invit 
ing,  because  more  accessible,  the  hill  being  very  precip 
itous.  To  this  they  directed  their  course  as  a  first  ap 
plication,  and,  finding  such  a  promise  of  comfort  as  sat 
isfied  them,  were  content  to  remain.  Wearied  with  his 
journey,  Mr.  Graflon  soon  retired,  postponing  till  the 
next  day  an  investigation  of  the  place  and  the  persons 
he  might  find  there. 

A  beautiful  morning  called  our  travelers  to  a  view  of 
the  valley  beneath  them,  not,  indeed,  varied  to  the  de 
gree  it  now  is  with  well-cultivated  farms,  clusters  of  sub 
stantial  houses,  a  boldly  undulating  country  compre 
hending  many  miles,  and  a  distance  that  stretched  with-. 

B 


26  WALTER  THORNLEY;  OR, 

out  intervening  veil  to  the  far  mountain  outline.  The 
primeval  forest  still  held  partial  possession,  and  excluded 
much  that  has  since  been  laid  open  to  admiring  eyes ; 
but  enough  was  even  then  to  be  seen  to  give  an  idea  of 
the  whole. 

A  visit  to  "the  Pool"  was  the  first  business  of  the 
day.  There  was  found  a  little  open  reservoir,  overshad 
owed  by  trees,  into  which  the  spring  poured  itself,  and 
around  it  on  benches  were  seated  the  patients,  as  if  wait 
ing  for  the  angel  who  should  "trouble  the  waters."  In 
a  few  moments  he  appeared  in  the  form  of  a  fine,  healthy, 
bare-footed  boy,  who,  filling  tumblers,  presented  them 
to  such  as  desired  it. 

At  present,  the  chief  recommendation  of  this  water  is 
its  purity  and  softness ;  but  at  that  period  the  belief  in 
its  efficacy  for  many  complaints  was  strong,  and,  more 
over,  confirmed  by  deposits  of  sulphur  on  the  sides  of 
the  Pool  in  such  quantities  that  people  often  gath 
ered  it  to  take  with  them  on  their  return  to  their 
homes. 

Mr.  Grafton  and  Walter,  both  quick  observers,  were 
speculating  on  the  persons  near  them,  chiefly  plain  coun 
try-folk,  who  compared  their  cases  and  experience,  the 
various  doctors  and  remedies  to  which  they  had  resort 
ed,  etc.,  etc.,  and  were  unanimous  in  the  opinion  that 
"  the  Pool"  was  better  than  all.  While  this  was  pass 
ing,  Walter's  attention  was  attracted  by  the  approach  of 
a  wagon,  small  and  light  enough  to  be  drawn  by  hand, 
descending  from  the  upper  house.  It  was  brought  quite 
close  to  the  Pool,  and  its  occupant,  a  boy  apparently 
eleven  or  twelve  years  old,  was  served  with  water. 

Walter  observed  that  the  servant  who  attended  him 
supported  him  while  he  raised  himself  to  drink.  This, 
together  with  the  extreme  delicacy  of  his  appearance, 
awakened  his  sympathy,  and,  approaching,  contrary  to 


A   PEEP   AT   THE   PAST.  27 

his  usual  shyness  toward  strangers,  he  tried  to  find  some 
occasion  to  speak  to  him.  It  soon  offered.  The  little 
invalid  dropped  his  handkerchief,  the  servant  did  not 
observe  it,  and  Walter  hastened  to  pick  it  up  and  hand 
it  to  him.  He  received  it  with  a  smile,  and  by  the  mes 
merism  of  youth  a  communication  was  established.  The 
servant  now  drew  near,  took  up  the  pole  of  the  wagon, 
and  they  turned  from  the  spring.  It  dragged  heavily  up 
the  steep  ascent,  and  Walter,  who  had  followed  a  few 
paces,  extended  a  helping  hand  without  speaking.  It 
was  not  rejected,  and  they  were  soon  at  the  door  of  the 
upper  house.  Here  Walter  was  about  to  turn  away,  but 
the  little  fellow  said,  with  a  wistful  look  and  friendly 
tone,  "  Don't  go !"  and  Walter  lingered. 

Presently  a  lady  appeared  on  the  piazza  and  descend 
ed  the  steps.  Bending  over  the  wagon,  she  kissed  the 
child  tenderly,  saying  in  a  sweet  German  voice,  "  Guten 
morgen,  mein  liebes  kind ;  how  came  you  to  desert  me 
thus?" 

"Master  Oscar  wished,  ma'am,"  said  the  servant,  re 
spectfully  removing  his  hat,  "  to  surprise  you  by  show 
ing  how  early  he  could  be  dressed,  and  how  strong  he 
is  growing." 

"Yes,  mamma,"  said  the  boy,  eagerly,  "  I  am  so  strong 
I  almost  raised  myself  without  Wilson's  help." 

"Indeed!"  exclaimed  the  lady.  "Thank  Heaven!" 
and  again,  with  eyes  full  of  love,  she  bent  over  him,  and 
again  she  kissed  him. 

Walter  turned  away,  and  hastily  retraced  his  steps 
down  the  hill.  He  could  not  have  very  clearly  defined 
his  feelings,  and  he  would  have  stoutly  repelled  any  in 
quiry  into  them.  He  only  knew  that  never  before  had 
he  so  keenly  felt  that  he  had  no  mother's  love. 

"  Who  is  that  fine-looking  youth,  Wilson  ?"  asked  the 
lady. 


28  WALTER  THORNLEY;    OK, 

The  man  professed  his  ignorance. 

"  But,  mamma,"  said  Oscar,  "  we  must  find  out.  He 
is  so  very  good-natured.  Do  you  know  that  he  helped 
Wilson  draw  me  up  the  hill  ?  It  was  his  own  offer,  too ; 
no  one  asked  him." 

"  That  was  indeed  very  kind  and  thoughtful,"  she  re 
plied.  "  We  will  ascertain  who  he  is  when  we  next  go 
to  the  spring." 

Meanwhile,  Mr.  Grafton,  who  had  observed  Walter's 
attention  to  the  sick  boy,  turned  to  a  gentleman  at  his 
side,  and  inquired  who  the  child  was.  The  question 
was  addressed  to  the  village  doctor,  in  frequent  attend 
ance  at  the  Pool,  and,  having  been  called  professionally 
to  the  child  on  his  arrival,  was  better  able  than  any  one 
else  to  answer  it. 

"  He  is  the  son  of  a  Mr.  Middleton.  The  father  is  an 
Englishman ;  but,  though  his  wife  speaks  English  per 
fectly,  it  is  with  a  foreign  accent,  which  I  take  to  be 
German.  Carriages,  horses,  and  servants  show  them  to 
be  people  of  fortune,  but  they  are  quite  unassuming  in 
their  manners.  She  especially ;  he  is  one  of  your  '  noli 
me  tangere1  people  ;  but  the  son  is  a  fine  fellow." 

"  Have  they  been  long  here  ?" 

"About  three  weeks.  They  came  for  the  health  of 
their  child,  who,  I  understand,  is  the  only  survivor  of 
four." 

"  And  is  he  likely  to  be  benefited  by  the  experiment  ? 
he  is  an  interesting-looking  boy." 

"  Oh,  too  handsome !  too  handsome !"  said  the  doctor, 
shaking  his  head.  "  I  never  like  that  complexion ;  but 
he  is  mending,  and,  with  good  care,  I  think  they  may 
save  him." 

"Where  do  they  reside?" 

"  I  believe  near  New  York.  They  have  been  in  this 
country  some  ten  or  twelve  years,  but  he  retains  all  his 


A  PEEP  AT  THE   PAST.  29 

John  Bull  stiffness,  and  will,  I  dare  swear,  as  long  as  lie 
lives." 

In  the  course  of  the  day  there  was  the  same  gathering 
at  the  Pool,  and  soon  the  wagon  and  the  little  boy  ap 
peared,  accompanied  by  a  lady  leaning  on  the  arm  of  a 
gentleman,  whom  Mr.  Grafton  rightly  inferred  to  be  Mr. 
and  Mrs.  Middleton.  The  relationship  between  her  and 
Oscar  would  have  been  suggested  by  their  strong  mu 
tual  resemblance,  except  that,  with  the  same  clear  blue 
eye,  delicately-cut  features,  and  profusion  of  silky  light- 
brown  hair,  her  complexion,  though  fair,  had  not  the 
fatal  transparency  through  which  that  fate  is  seen,  which 
so  often  attends  those  who  seem  like  victims  decked  for 
sacrifice.  Her  sweet  face  and  courteous  manner  were  a 
passport  to  all  hearts.  Mr.  Middleton,  on  the  contrary, 
invited  no  approach.  A  fine  person  and  gentleman 
ly  deportment  made  an  immediate  impression,  but,  be 
yond  what  politeness  required,  he  encouraged  no  inter 
course. 

Oscar's  eye  eagerly  sought  Walter,  whom  having 
found,  he  pointed  out  to  Mrs.  Middleton,  saying,  earn 
estly,  "Do,  mamma,  speak  to  him." 

She  was  on  the  point  of  advancing  toward  him,  when 
her  husband,  perceiving  her  intention,  restrained  her, 
though  very  gently,  and  said,  "Wilson,  go  to  the  young 
man,  and  request  him  to  do  Master  Oscar  the  favor  to 
come  here." 

The  message  was  delivered  and  obeyed.  Oscar  greet 
ed  Walter  with  a  smile,  and  Mrs.  Middleton,  kindly  ex 
tending  her  hand,  said,  "I  am  happy  that  my  son  has 
formed  such  an  acquaintance,  but,  that  I  also  may  share 
his  pleasure,  will  you  have  the  goodness  to  give  me  your 
name  ?" 

Walter  felt  as  if  he  could  give  her  his  heart. 

"Walter  Thornley,  ma'am." 


30  WALTER  THORNLEY;  OR, 

"  What  a  nice  name!"  exclaimed  Oscar,  ready  to  ad 
mire  whatever  belonged  to  his  new  friend. 

"Papa,  this  is  Walter  Thornley." 

Mr.  Middleton,  whose  attention  had  been  otherwise 
directed,  turned  rather  suddenly  at  hearing  himself  thus 
addressed,  looked  inquiringly  at  the  youth,  then  politely 
but  coldly  offered  his  hand,  but  said  nothing. 

"  And  I,"  said  Oscar,  "  am  Oscar  Middleton ;  now  we 
know  each  other,  don't  we?"  And  so  it  seemed,  not 
withstanding  that  a  few  hours  previously  they  had  been 
ignorant  of  each  other's  existence.  Precious  immunity 
of  young  hearts ! 

Henceforth  Walter's  time  was  divided  between  attend 
ance  on  Mr.  Grrafton  and  Oscar ;  and  as  the  improvement 
in  the  former  soon  began  to  justify  Damie's  recommend 
ation  of  the  Pool,  Walter  was  more  at  leisure  to  devote 
himself  to  the  latter.  His  gentle  ways ;  his  hand  always 
in  the  right  place  in  moving,  lifting,  and  adjusting  Oscar; 
that  instinct  by  which  even  children  often  know  how  to 
adapt  themselves  to  the  suffering,  rendered  his  services 
more  acceptable  than  Wilson's ;  and  Walter,  in  no  long 
time,  became  his  most  reliable  attendant.  Then  his  com 
panionship  was  so  amusing !  He  had  so  many  things  to 
tell  of  his  wild  wood-life,  of  his  forest  sports,  and  Indian 
traditions,  that,  in  listening,  Oscar's  body  grew  stronger 
as  his  spirit  became  lighter. 

Though  difference  in  years  under  other  circumstances 
would  have  kept  them  asunder,  it  now  served  only  to 
unite  them  by  a  sense  of  usefulness  on  one  side,  of  reli 
ance  on  the  other.  In  addition  to  this,  Oscar's  delicate 
health  had  confined  him  so  much  to  the  society  of  those 
older  than  himself,  that  he  was  sufficiently  matured  to 
value  the  superior  attainments  of  Walter. 

A  fortnight  had  thus  passed,  during  which  the  inti 
macy  of  the  boys  had  drawn  Mr.  Grafton  and  the  Mid- 


A  PEEP  AT  THE   PAST.  31 

dletons  together.  Between  himself  and  the  lady  a  friend 
ly,  almost  familiar  intercourse  was  established.  He,  as 
an  invalid,  excited  her  interest,  and  by  attentions  to  him 
as  such,  she  endeavored  to  repay  the  really  important 
services  that  Walter  was  rendering  to  her  son.  Then  he 
had  seen  her  country  in  his  younger  days';  he  under 
stood  its  language  and  admired  its  literature.  He  loved 
its  music  and  its  poetry ;  could  sympathize  with  Klop- 
stock's  love  for  his  "  Meta,"  and  comprehend  and  pity, 
if  he  could  not  justify,  the  "  Sorrows  of  Werter."  Wal 
ter,  who  had  never  seen  his  guardian  in  society  so  stimu 
lating,  listened,  and  wondered  at  the  new  phase  under 
which  he  appeared. 

In  Mr.  Middleton  Mr.  Grafton  had  scarcely  less  inter 
est  than  in  his  wife,  but  it  was  of  a  very  different  char 
acter.  He  was  to  him  a  study,  and  a  painful  one. 

a  His  is  not  a  handsome  face,"  thought  he  one  day 
when  he  had  been  long  speculating  on  it ;  "  no,  not  what 
is  commonly  so  called,  and  yet,  from  its  variety  and 
power,  it  rivets  my  attention  beyond  any  I  ever  saw. 
Sometimes  harsh  almost  to  severity,  then  tender  almost 
to  sadness ;  never  cheerful,  yet  occasionally  bright  with 
a  gayety  that  seems  to  play  but  on  the  surface,  and  re 
minds  one  of  sunshine  upon  ice — light  without  warmth. 
A  man,  I  should  say,  of  quick  sensibilities — of  strong 
impulses  rather  than  stern  resolve — and  yet  sometimes 
he  looks  as  if  he  could  dare  death  in  the  pursuit  of  a 
purpose ;  yes,  dare,  perhaps,  but  not  endure.  His  man 
ner  is  as  uncertain  as  is  his  face — always  polite,  though 
often  cold  to  repulsiveness,  he  will  yet  suddenly  surprise 
with  a  cordiality  that  embarrasses  by  its  strangeness." 

That  Mr.  Grafton,  on  his  part,  should  impress  his  new 
acquaintances  favorably  was  to  be  expected.  Gentleman 
was  so  indelibly  stamped  upon  him  that  the  most  sus 
picious  and  exacting  could  not  distrust  his  claim  to  be 


32  WALTER  THOBXLEY;    OR, 

thus  considered,  while  the  intellectual  and  spiritual  char 
acter  of  his  face  spoke  to  whatever  was  high  and  holy 
in  those  with  whom  he  held  communication.  Simple  as 
a  child  in  his  manners — reserved  from  modesty,  not  pride 
— there  was  no  artificial  barrier  to  the  fountain  within. 
He  was  no  egotist ;  he  could  not  speak  of  himself  or  his 
interests ;  but  though  he  did  not  offer  his  own  heart  to 
the  inspection  of  others,  he  never  withheld  from  them 
his  sympathy. 

"While  Mr.  Grafton  found  matter  for  reflection  in  his 
new  acquaintances,  Walter  was  not  less  observant.  Al 
ternately  attracted  and  repelled  by  Mr.  Middleton — hard 
ly  knowing  whether  or  not  he  liked  him — he  was  yet 
conscious  of  an  uneasy  interest  attaching  to  whatever  he 
said  or  did.  On  the  other  hand,  Mrs.  Middleton  inspired 
him  with  emotions  as  delightful  as  new.  Her  beauty, 
her  manner,  invested  even  ordinary  actions  with  a  charm. 
But  when  she  caressingly  leaned  over  her  son,  when  she 
laid  her  soft  fair  hand  on  his  head,  or  turned  his  light 
curls  over  her  fingers,  a  strange  undefined  feeling  of  des- 
olateness  would  come  over  him,  while  he  gazed  with  such 
sad  admiring  eyes  as  on  one  occasion  caught  the  atten 
tion  of  Mr.  Middleton,  and  Walter  felt  a  rough  rap  on 
his  shoulder.  Looking  up,  he  saw  that  gentleman  re 
garding  him  with  a  smile  unusually  mirthful. 

"Take  care,  young  sir,"  exclaimed  he,  "  you  must  not 
fall  in  love  with  my  wife." 

"  I  don't  know  what  you  mean,  sir,"  replied  Walter, 
in  all  simplicity. 

Again  Mr.  Middleton  smiled.  ' '  Oh  I  am  not  at  all  jeal 
ous,  I  assure  you — rather  pleased  with  your  involuntary 
homage ;  but" — shaking  his  head — "  I  see  there  is  a  very 
soft  place  in  your  heart,  my  boy.  I  hope  you  may  not 
some  day  find  it  out  to  your  cost." 


A  PEEP  AT  THE   PAST.  33 


CHAPTER  IV. 

THE  health  of  Oscar  rapidly  improved;  the  pure, 
bracing  mountain  air  probably  the  chief  agent  in  his  re 
covery.  The  symptoms  that  had  filled  his  parents  with 
apprehensions  of  spinal  disease  had  nearly  disappeared, 
and  the  doctor  could  honestly  assure  them  that  he  was 
thus  far  safe.  He  now  sat  up  without  support,  and 
moved  about  with  only  the  assistance  of  an  arm,  or  a 
cane ;  but  Walter,  even  more  necessary  to  him  as  a  com 
panion,  still  passed  part  of  every  day  at  the  upper  house. 

One  morning  when  he  and  Mr.  Grafton  had,  as  usual, 
joined  their  friends  on  the  piazza,  where  Mrs.  Middleton 
was  seated  at  her  tambour-frame,  and  her  husband,  after 
a  short  conversation,  turned  again  to  his  newspaper, 
Walter  found  a  place  at  a  table,  where,  among  other 
things  scattered  on  it,  lay  a  large  open  book  richly  illus 
trated,  over  which  Oscar  was  poring. 

"  Oh !"  said  he,  "  I'm  so  glad  you've  come.  Here  is 
something  that  mamma  packed  up  for  my  entertainment, 
that  I  have  been  so  wishing  to  show  you,  but  it  has  not 
been  taken  out  till  to-day.  It  is  full  of  the  queerest 
things ;  just  look !" 

It  was  a  work  on  Heraldry,  and  Walter  was  as  eager 
to  see  as  Oscar  to  exhibit. 

"This  is  the  very  thing!"  said  he.  "It  will  explain 
what  I  have  read  of;  but  you  must  help  me  to  under 
stand  it." 

Delighted  to  be  able  to  teach  Walter  any  thing,  Oscar 
poured  forth  his  little  store,  accompanied  with  a  modest 
disclaimer. 

"  Indeed  I  don't  know  much  about  it  myself,  as  I  have 
B2 


34  WALTER  THORNLEY;  OR, 

only  looked  it  over  once  with  mamma ;  but  we  will  help 
each  other." 

They  were  soon  deep  in  the  book  with  its  quaint  and 
antiquated  Norman  terms,  which  Oscar,  with  an  amusing 
complacency,  repeated  for  the  instruction  of  Walter. 
"Field,  ordinaries  and  charges,  chef,  f ess,  and  hose;  bends 
and  cheveron.  Party  my  coupe,  and  coupe  my  party. 
Parti  per  chef,  per  f ess,  and  per  lend;  or,  argent,  gules, 
vert,  pelkts,  bezants,  torteaux,  ermine,  and  vair"  Lions 
in  every  fantastic  attitude ;  stags'  and  bulls'  heads  caboss- 
ed;  leopards,  eagles,  and  dolphins;  battle-axes,  spears, 
and  daggers ;  helmets,  crests,  devices,  and  lambrequins ; 
gauntlets  and  greaves ;  crosses  in  every  conceivable  va 
riety  ;  roses  and  fleurs-de-lis ;  cups,  baldricks,  and  horns, 
etc.,  etc. 

"And  are  all  these  strange  things  significant?"  asked 
Walter. 

"  To  be  sure,"  answered  Oscar,  with  the  confidence  of 
an  amateur ;  "at  least  they  were  so  once.  Perhaps  they 
make  coats  of  arms  now  to  suit  people's  fancy,  and  crowd 
every  sort  of  thing  into  them,  for  the  book  says  the  most 
simple  are  the  most  ancient.  Here  now  is  one,  *  parti 
per  pale,  argent  and  guled — nothing  more — that  means 
divided  perpendicularly,  one  half  white,  the  other  red, 
and  it  belongs  to  one  of  the  oldest  families.  Mamma 
says  this  is  as  it  should  be ;  for  the  best-born  persons  are 
the  least  ostentatious." 

They  continued  to  turn  over  the  leaves  quietly,  till 
Oscar  exclaimed,  "  Ah !  here  is  something  would  suit  me 
nicely.  See!  ' Falcon  close,''  confined  to  its  perch,  and 
'Falcon  rising?  with  wings  just  beginning  to  spread 
themselves — not  yet  fairly  off — I'd  take  that  if  I  had 
to  choose.  I  am  leaving  my  perch;  by-and-by  I'll 
fly!" 

"  And  what  does  this  queer  little  dumpy  bird  mean?" 


A  PEEP  AT  THE   PAST.  35 

"'Dumpy  bird!'"  repeated  Oscar;  "why,  that's  a 
martlet,  and  never  has  any  feet,  because  it  was  given  to 
younger  sons,  who  had  no  land  to  stand  on." 

"  Oh,  then,  that  would  do  for  me,"  said  Walter. 

"  And  why  for  you?  You  have  no  older  brothers, 
have  you?" 

"No,  nor  no  land  neither;  I  am  'Walter  the  penni 
less.'  " 

"  Well,  they  say  I  am  to  have  plenty  of  land,  but  I 
would  give  it  all  for  a  brother.  Ah !  here  is  one  would 
suit  mamma,  '  a  pelican  wounding  herself  to  feed  her 
young;'  that  is  just  what  she  would  do." 

Mr.  Grrafton,  seated  by  Mrs.  Middleton,  had  engaged 
her  in  conversation,  but  it  flagged  as  her  ear  caught  the 
sounds  from  Oscar's  table;  and,  as  he  uttered  the  last 
words,  he  observed  a  sigh  to  escape  her,  and  her  moist 
ened  eye  turned  to  her  son. 

"  Ah  ha !"  continued  Oscar,  with  emphasis,  and  in  a 
higher  key,  "  here  is  something  we  haven't  got,  and  we 
don't  want — do  we  ?"  Then,  lowering  his  voice,  he  whis 
pered  to  Walter  an  explanation,  who  replied  by  a  nod 
of  intelligence. 

Oscar's  louder  tone  had  roused  his  father,  who,  catch 
ing  his  last  words,  laid  down  his  paper,  and  said,  "  Pray 
what  is  that,  my  boy,  which  you  neither  have  nor  want? 
I  am  glad  you  are  so  reasonable.  We  generally  desire 
most  what  we  have  not;  what  is  it?" 

Oscar  looked  a  little  foolish ;  his  father  repeated  the 
question,  and  he  replied,  "  A  *  baton  sinistre]  papa." 

A  cloud  came  over  Mr.  Middleton's  face,  and  in  a  man 
ner  almost  fierce,  he  said,  "  Who  has  dared  to  put  such 
ideas  into  your  head?  Has  Wilson  presumed  to  in 
struct  you?  or — " 

"Dear  papa,"  said  Oscar,  "Wilson  does  not  under 
stand  heraldry,  you  know." 


36  WALTER  THORNLEY;  OR, 

"Who,  then,"  repeated  his  father  in  the  same  tone, 
"has  given  you  this  superfluous  information,  filling  your 
mind  with — " 

Mrs.  Middleton  had  risen  from  her  frame  and  ap 
proached  her  husband,  and  now,  putting  her  hand  gently 
on  his  shoulder,  said,  "  If  there  can  be  a  fault  in  a  mat 
ter  so  trifling,  it  is  mine.  Oscar  asked  me  for  an  ex 
planation,  which  I  gave.  I  always  tell  him  the  truth." 

Her  voice,  her  touch,  were  enough.  Subdued  at  once, 
he  took  her  hand,  raised  it  to  his  lips,  and  said,  "You 
are  always  right ;  I  am  always  wrong." 

"  Not  so,  dear  Godfrey.  But  if  sometimes  wrong,  as 
we  all  are — always  generous  and  ready  to  atone,  which 
all  are  not." 

He  replied  only  by  repeating  the  word  "atone"  in  a 
low  voice,  and  then  resumed  his  paper. 

Mrs.  Middleton,  without  apology  or  explanation,  or  ap 
parent  consciousness  that  such  might  be  required,  return 
ed  quietly  to  her  work,  and  the  boys  tried  to  busy  them 
selves  in  their  book. 

But  the  harmony  of  the  morning  was  not  to  be  re 
stored,  and,  as  soon  as  could  be  done  without  betraying 
the  reason,  Mr.  Grafton  reminded  Walter  of  the  hour, 
and  they  withdrew. 

As  they  descended  the  hill  Walter  said,  "Mr.  Mid 
dleton  is  a  strange  person.  Do  you  not  think,  sir,  that 
he  is  a  little  insane  ?  His  coachman,  I  understand,  says 
(for  Wilson  is  more  guarded)  that  he  sometimes  keeps 
his  room,  where  no  one,  not  even  his  wife,  goes  near 
him.  And  then  he  is  so  uncertain !  At  times  he  makes 
me  feel  as  if  I  could  do  any  thing  for  him,  and  then 
again  he  is  so  strange  that  it  seems  as  if  his  mind  could 
not  be  sound." 

"No,  I  do  not  think  so.  He  is  rather  the  spoiled 
child  of  fortune,  and  having  been  disappointed,  or  per- 


A  PEEP   AT  THE   PAST.  37 

haps  ill-treated,  his  nerves  are  out  of  tune.  I  am  glad 
to  be  assured  by  his  devotion  to  his  wife  and  child  that 
there  is  no  domestic  unhappiness.  If  we  referred  all 
human  inconsistencies,  "Walter,  to  insanity,  we  should 
make  the  world  a  '  maison  des  faus?  " 

Yet,  notwithstanding  this  interpretation,  Mr.  Grafton 
did  not  wholly  reject  Walter's  suggestion,  which  tended 
to  increase  his  interest  in  the  family,  and  his  regret  for 
his  departure,  which,  as  he  was  now  quite  restored,  was 
to  take  place  in  a  few  days. 

The  next  morning,  as  Oscar  was  sitting  by  his  mother, 
he  said,  "I  want  you  to  ask  papa  to  do  me  a  great  favor." 

"Why  not  ask  him  yourself,  my  son?" 

"  Because  he  never  refuses  you  any  thing." 

"  Nor  you,  Oscar,  if  it  be  proper." 

"  Well,  this  is  proper ;  and  yet  I  am  afraid.  I  know 
papa  loves  me — but — sometimes — he  speaks  so — " 

"Your  father  has  much  to  trouble  him,  and  we  all 
have  our  faults,  Oscar.  We  must  love  our  friends  with 
them,  since  we  can  not  have  them  without." 

"You  have  none,  mamma — " 

Mrs.  Middleton  would  have  checked  him,  but  he  pro 
ceeded,  "No,  no,  you  have  no  faults!  You  are  kind  to 
every  body,  and  Wilson  says  all  the  poor  people  say 
you  are  an  angel." 

"  Oh,  my  child,  it  is  easy  to  earn  such  commendations 
from  those  who  are  starving.  A  full  meal,  fuel,  and  a 
little  money  will  lend  wings  to  any  common  mortal." 

"Perhaps  so;  but  their  wings  drop  off  when  they  come 
to  the  light,  like  the  man's  who  went  too  near  the  sun; 
but  yours  only  look  brighter." 

"Stop,  stop,  little  flatterer!  and  tell  me  what  is  the 
great  favor  you  are  wanting." 

"  It  is  that  papa  would  invite  Walter  to  go  home  with 
us — only  for  a  visit,  I  mean." 


38  WALTER  THORNLEY;  OR, 

Mrs.  Middleton  hesitated,  and  looked  rather  doubtful ; 
then  said,  "  Your  father  is  not  fond  of  having  stran 
gers—" 

"  But  Walter  is  not  now  a  stranger." 

"  No — well,  I  will  do  what  I  can  for  you,  unless  you 
will  ask  yourself — that  is  best,  believe  me.  Your  fa 
ther  never  refused  you  a  reasonable  gratification." 

A  few  days  after,  Mr.  Grafton  and  Walter  called  to 
take  leave,  and  the  visit,  which  all  seemed  equally  un 
willing  to  terminate,  being  ended  with  an  exchange  of 
regrets  and  good  wishes,  Mr.  Middleton  said,  as  they  rose 
to  go,  "  We  will,  if  you  please,  leave  the  boys  here  a 
few  moments,  while  you  indulge  me  with  a  walk  on  the 
piazza." 

"  I  have,"  he  continued,  when  they  were  alone,  "  a  re 
quest  to  prefer  in  behalf  of  Oscar,  but  one  in  which  Mrs. 
Middleton  and  myself  take  part.  We  wish  you  to  al 
low  Walter  to  remain  here,  and  to  return  with  us  to  our 
home.  We  shall  be  grateful  for  as  long  a  visit  from  him 
as  you  can  consent  to." 

"  You  are  all  very  good,"  replied  Mr.  Grafton,  some 
what  embarrassed  by  the  unexpected  proposal,  "  so  good 
that  I  grieve  to  say  no.  But  I  can  not  at  present  part 
with  him.  The  conditions  of  my  guardianship  are  rig 
id,  and  I  must  conform  to  them." 

Mr.  Middleton  looked  disappointed. 

"Were  you  like  some  men  I  might  urge  you,"  he 
said;  ubut  I  am  so  well  assured  of  your  desire  to  give 
happiness  that  I  am  satisfied  you  decline  to  do  so  only 
for  sufficient  reasons.  But  if  not  now,  some  other  time ; 
and  one  word  more  ;  your  nephew  has  interested  us  not 
only  by  his  kind  attentions  to  our  son,  but  by  his  un 
common  gifts.  Have  you  decided  on  his  future  ?  Can 
he  obtain  in  your  retired  situation  the  advantages  to 
which  he  is  entitled?" 


A   PEEP  AT  THE   PAST.  39 

% 

"  Not  all  I  could  wish,  of  course,  but  more,  perhaps, 
than  you  suppose.  He  is  now  advanced  in  some  studies 
as  far  as  youths  of  his  age  in  a  country  where  a  classical 
education  is  much  behind  that  to  be  obtained,  and  there 
fore  required,  in  yours ;  and  in  his  reflective  powers  he 
is  far  beyond  them.  His  mind  is  more  than  usually  im 
pressible,  and  gathers  from  books  and  from  every  ex 
ternal  object  with  no  other  stimulant  than  its  own  en 
ergy.  As  to  his  future,  that  does  not  depend  on  me ; 
I  have  little  fear,  however,  but  that  he  will  make  a  way 
to  usefulness,  and  that  is  the  best  distinction." 

Mr.  Middleton  looked  as  if  he  wished,  yet  did  not  know 
how,  to  proceed.  At  length  he  said, 

"  I  will  not  farther  press  this  matter  at  present,  but  if 
at  any  time  money  should  be  necessary — I  have  no  in 
fluence  in  this  country,  you  know — call  on  me.  Here 
is  my  address.  Pardon  me  if  I  am  impertinent." 

"  My  dear  sir,  you  are  only  generous  beyond  all  claim, 
and  I  ought  therefore  to  be  frank  with  you,  though  little 
disposed  to  speak  of  my  own  affairs.  Should  his  re 
sources  be  inadequate,  I  have  enough  for  him  and  myself. 
I  will  only  beg  you  to  preserve  for  us  your  good-will 
and  remembrance." 

At  an  early  hour  the  next  day,  after  another  farewell 
to  Oscar,  who  had  insisted  on  being  at  their  lodgings  for 
the  purpose,  Mr.  Grafton  and  Walter  were  on  their  way 
homeward. 

The  morning  was  exquisite ;  and  Mr.  Grafton,  reno 
vated  in  health,  gratified  with  the  acquaintance  they  had 
made,  from  which  he  hoped  some  future  good  to  his 
ward,  and  well  pleased  to  return  to  his  quiet  home,  cast 
a  cheerful  glance  around  him,  and  "Walter  endeavored  to 
shake  off  regretful  feelings. 

Considering  it  due  to  Mr.  Middleton,  Mr.  Grafton  com 
municated  his  kind  invitation. 


40  WALTER  THORNLEY;  OR,  ^ 

"  May  I  ask  what  you  said,  sir?" 

"  I  had  only  to  tell  the  truth,  and  confess  myself  not 
at  liberty  to  consent.  Would  you  like  to  go?" 

"Yes,  sir;  but  you  know  best,  I  dare  say." 

Still  Walter  did  not  look  satisfied.  After  a  silence 
of  some  time,  and  divers  unconscious  applications  of  his 
•whip,  which,  considering  his  horses  were  doing  their  best 
up  a  long  hill,  probably  seemed  to  them  quite  unneces 
sary,  he,  said, 

"I  should  like  to  ask  you  a  question,  sir." 

"As  many  as  you  pleas*1,  'Walter." 

"Then  why  did  you  say  you  were  'not  at  liberty  to 
consent?'  You,  only,  have  the  control  of  my  actions." 

"  Oh !  well,  perhaps  I  did  not  use  to  Mr.  Middlcton 
just  that  form  of  expression." 

"But  you  do  to  me,  sir;  and  it  is  why  you  use  it  at 
all  that  I  wish  to  know." 

"You  are  critical,  Walter,"  said  Mr.  Grafton,  with  a 
smile.  "Do  we  not  often  so  express  inability  ?  We  re 
gret  that  we  have  not  the  powev  to  do  a  thing,  which  is 
just  the  same." 

"  Perhaps  so,  sir ;  but  when  you  have  sometimes  re 
fused  a  request  of  mine,  you  may  have  said  you  could 
not  comply,  but  it  was  never  in  a  way  to  imply  that  you 
could  not  if  you  chose  to  do  so." 

"  Guardians  are  often  restricted  in  certain  particulars. 
Be  assured  that  I  shall  never  interpret  my  limits  too 
rigidly.  For  the  present  we  will  say  no  more  about  it." 

But  it  was  not  so  easy  to  repress  in  Walter's  mind  the 
train  of  thought  that  had  been  suggested. 

Near  the  decline  of  the  next  day,  Damie,  having  been 
forewarned  of  their  approach,  received  them  at  the  door 
step.  The  evening  being  rather  chilly,  though  it  was 
July — a  freak  our  capricious  climate  often  indulges  in 
— she  had  a  cheerful  little  blaze  on  the  parlor  hearth ; 


A    I'KUl'    AT    THK    I'AST.  41 

Mr.  Graflon's  chair  was  in  its  usual  place,  Ins  stand  and 
candles  placed  by  it,  and  every  piece  of  furniture  had  an 
expectant  look.  As  she  observed  Mr.  Grafton's  im 
proved  condition,  Damie  was,  as  an  Italian  would  say, 
"gloriosa"  She  had  advised  the  journey !  she  had  pre 
dicted  the  cure ! 

"Well,"  exclaimed  she,  "if  the  Pool  isn't  wonderful! 
Why,  you  are  as  spry,  sir,  as  Walter;  and  he,  too,  though 
he  ivas  parfectly  well  when  he  went,  he,  too,  is  better 
now." 

This  declaration  provoked  a  laugh  at  her  expense, 
which  she  was  too  proud,  too  happy,  and  too  busy  to 
resent, 


42  WALTER  THORNLEY;  OR, 


CHAPTER  Y. 

THE  summer  passed ;  but,  though  Walter  attended  to 
the  cares  that,  as  he  grew  into  greater  trust,  devolved 
upon  him,  and  failed  in  no  respect  in  his  accustomed 
application  to  study,  Mr.  Grafton  saw  with  regret  that 
his  boyish  happiness  seemed  yielding  to  a  thoughtful- 
ness  which,  always  in  some  degree  natural  to  him,  had 
of  late  become  so  prevailing  as  to  suggest  some  special 
cause.  Still,  as  he  made  neither  communication  nor 
inquiry,  Mr.  Grafton,  whatever  he  might  conjecture, 
thought  it  best  to  defer  the  revelation  which  he  was 
aware  must  soon  be  given.  This  was  unexpectedly 
hastened.  One  evening,  as  he  was  reading,  and  Walter 
was,  or  affected  to  be,  occupied  in  like  manner,  he  sud 
denly  turned  to  his  guardian,  and  said,  "  Are  you  my 
uncle,  sir?" 

Off  his  guard  at  this  unlooked-for  inquiry,  Mr.  Graf- 
ton  instinctively  answered,  "  No,  Walter." 

"What  relationship,  then,  is  there  between  us?" 

"  None  whatever." 

With  a  strong  effort  to  suppress  his  emotion,  Walter 
said,  in  a  proud  and  injured  tone,  "  Then  I  have  been 
deceived  for  twelve  years.  'Tis  time,  sir,  to  deal  differ 
ently  with  me." 

"  My  dear  boy,  the  deceit  of  which  you  complain,  if 
it  indeed  deserves  so  harsh  a  name,  has  been  most  re 
luctant  on  my  part.  I  have  only  sought  to  defer  what 
would  give  pain.  But  you  are  right.  The  time  for 
concealment  is  past.  Take  this  seat  by  me,  and  I  will 
give  you  such  facts  as  are  in  my  possession." 


A   PEEP   AT   THE   PAST.  43 

Walter  did  so ;  the  story  was  told  in  few  words,  but 
many  would  fail  to  express  its  effect  on  the  hearer.  His 
intense  gaze,  his  changing  color,  his  quivering  lip  and 
heaving  chest,  better  told  the  conflict  of  emotions  that 
shook  him.  For  some  time  he  could  not  speak.  His 
first  words  were  those  of  gratitude.  Convulsively  press 
ing  Mr.  Grafton's  hand,  he  could  only  say,  "  My  father !" 
and  the  effort  brought  tears  to  his  relief. 

Mr.  Grafton,  unwilling  to  infuse  his  own  distrust  into 
Walter's  mind,  had  been  careful  to  express  no  opinion 
of  the  person  by  whom  he  had  been  committed  to  his 
care,  while  ignorant  of  the  relationship  subsisting  be 
tween  them. 

"  Has  he  never  written  ?"  asked  Walter,  at  length. 

"  Never." 

* '  But  the  promised  remittances — he  surely  sent  them  ?" 

"  For  a  short  time." 

Walter's  countenance  fell. 

"How  do  you  explain  their  failure,  sir?" 

"  I  can  not,  otherwise  than  by  supposing  that  he  may 
be  no  longer  living." 

Walter  shuddered. 

"Dead!"  he  exclaimed,  "and  all  knowledge  dying 
with  him  I  Oh,  it  can  not  be !  do  not,  do  not  say  so  1" 

"I  only  suggest  a  possibility;  there  may  be  other 
and  excellent  reasons.  We  must  hope  the  best." 

But  distress,  doubt,  fear,  spoke  in  Walter's  face.  He 
longed  to  ask  if  Mr.  Grafton  believed  this  person  to  be 
his  father,  but  he  could  not;  he  dreaded,  he  knew  not 
why,  to  have  the  idea  confirmed.  He  only  asked  that 
he  would  more  minutely  describe  his  appearance. 

Mr.  Grafton  did  so. 

"  The  same !  the  same !"  exclaimed  Walter,  as  if  from 
some  secret  recess  of  memory  an  image  came  forth, 
bringing  with  it,  too,  dim  recollections  of  endearments 


44  WALTER  THORNLEY ;    OR, 

that  had  won  his  infant  confidence ;  and  he  softened  to 
ward  one  who,  a  moment  before,  had  repelled  him. 
But  with  these  came  also  a  fear,  and  his  heart  fainted 
within  him. 

"  Perhaps  it  is  better  I  should  never  know,"  thought 
he.  "  I  may  only  hear  my  birth  to  blush  for  it." 

Mr.  Grafton,  tenderly  regarding  him,  easily  divined 
the  doubts,  the  conjectures,  the  apprehensions  that  pass 
ed  like  shadows  over  his  expressive  face,  but  he  forbore 
to  avow  his  participation  in  them. 

"My  dear  boy,"  said  he,  affectionately  laying  his 
hand  on  his  head,  and  stroking  the  rich  hair  from  his 
brow,  "let  us  talk  no  more  at  present,  it  is  late;  but 
henceforth  we  shall  have  no  secrets  from  each  other." 

A  beautiful  autumn  came,  glorious  with  its  yellow 
lights  and  gorgeous  foliage ;  and,  animated  by  its  brac 
ing  influences,  Walter  seemed  more  like  himself  than  he 
had  of  late  done.  "With  his  gun  on  his  shoulder,  his 
lunch  in  his  pocket,  and  followed  by  Peto,  a  mongrel, 
with  a  strong  infusion  of  bull,  unfit  for  sport,  but  great 
as  a  guard  or  companion,  and  one  who  would  not  be  re 
pulsed,  he  set  off  for  a  day  in  the  woods. 

On  his  return  home,  finding  himself  near  the  lower 
termination  of  the  ravine,  the  fancy  took  him  to  climb  its 
precipitous  side  as  he  had  often  done ;  but  what  should  he 
do  with  Peto,  who  had  been  more  a  plague  than  pleasure 
during  the  day,  and  would  here  be  a  serious  encum 
brance  ?  A  neighbor  lad  who  was  passing  by  the  usual 
route  to  the  village  offered  to  relieve  him  both  of  dog 
and  gun,  and  Walter,  sharing  with  him  his  game,  con 
sented,  Peto  going  off  with  the  air  of  a  dismissed  offi 
cial,  conscious  of  incompetency.  Then,  winding  his  way 
up  the  ravine,  he  put  forth  his  strength  and  agility  to 
the  task  of  reaching  the  summit.  Having  gained  it,  he 
threw  himself  panting  and  excited  on  a  bed  of  leaves 


A   PEEP   AT   THE    PAST.  45 

with  which  a  slight  frost  had  strewn  the  ground,  and 
surrendered  himself  to  the  tranquilizing  influences 
around  him. 

A  soft  vapory  haze  was  spread  over  the  declining 
day,  rendering  nature — like  a  lovely  woman  seen  through 
a  transparent  veil — even  more  lovely.  The  woods  had 
put  their  glory  on — 

"Oh,  Autumn  !  why  so  soon 
Depart  the  hues  that  make  the  forest  glad  ?" 

There  were  no  discordant  sounds,  but  through  the 
still  air  was  heard  the  murmur  from  the  ravine,  and  the 
distinct  but  gentle  dropping  of  the  golden  leaves  that 
the  frost  had  disengaged.  Walter  watched  them  as  they 
fell  till  a  dreamy  thoughtfulness  came  over  him.  To 
this  succeeded  a  sense  of  loneliness,  suggested  by  the 
companionship  that  seemed  to  pervade  all  nature.  The 
hum  of  insects  told  of  numbers ;  the  birds  that  twittered 
among  the  trees  that  shaded  him  were  arranging  a  social 
southern  trip  when  the  shorter  days  should  come ;  a  cow 
that  had  broken  bounds,  and  had  found  some  green 
spots  near  him,  from  time  to  time  gave  a  motherly  call 
to  her  silly  calf  who  had  strayed  too  far  from  her ;  even 
the  senseless  river  at  his  feet  seemed  hasting  to  some 
"  meeting  of  the  waters,"  as  if  willing  to  lose  itself  so 
that  it  might  mingle  with  others. 

"  Nothing  is  alone  but  myself,"  sighed  Walter. 

Wearied  with  his  day's  ramble,  reverie  soon  disposed 
to  sleep,  and  he  was  transported  to  the  "land  of  dreams." 
He  there  appeared  still  to  lie  on  his  cliff-top  bed,  while 
groups  of  happy  children  and  caressing  mothers  were 
near  him.  Lambs  gamboled  about  their  dams,  and  pa 
rent-birds  were  feeding  their  nestlings  in  the  trees ;  but 
none  cared  for  him,  or  even  seemed  conscious  of  his 
presence.  He  was  alone,  in  the  midst  of  life  and  love. 
By-and-by  a  cloud  intervened,  and  all  were  gone.  While 


46  WALTER  THORNLEY;    OR, 

he  lamented,  it  parted,  and  disclosed  the  image  that  had 
haunted  his  childhood — a  tall,  dark  man,  with  eyes  bent 
on  him  that  penetrated  to  his  heart,  and  weighed  on  him 
like  a  nightmare.  He  tried  to  move — he  was  transfixed 
by  their  gaze. 

The  low  growl  of  a  dog  broke  the  spell,  and  he  awoke 
to  behold  that  very  face  leaning  over  him;  and  Peto, 
who  had  eluded  the  custody  to  which  he  had  been  com 
mitted,  guarding  him  with  an  air  of  defiance. 

Walter  raised  himself  on  his  elbow,  laid  a  restraining 
hand  on  Peto,  and  turned  a  full,  undaunted  look  on  the 
stranger. 

"Walter  Thornley?"  he  asked. 

"  Yes,"  said  Walter. 

"I  thought  so.    But  you  do  not  and  can  not  know  me" 

Years  had  left  their  mark  on  that  face,  but  there  were 
still  the  same  strong  features,  the  same  singular  expres 
sion  that  had,  as  it  were,  burned  itself  into  his  infant  mind. 
Naturally  tenacious  of  all  impressions,  and  rendered  still 
more  so  by  a  life  so  quiet  and  unvarying  as  to  produce 
but  few,  Walter  gazed  on  him  with  a  clear  conviction  of 
his  identity.  He  had  risen,  and,  standing  erect  with 
arms  crossed  upon  his  breast,  as  if  to  control  the  beat 
ing  of  his  heart,  and  endeavoring  to  speak  with  compo 
sure,  he  said  deliberately, 

"Yes— I— do." 

It  was  evident  that  the  stranger  was  unprepared  for 
this  reply,  and  he  returned  a  look  of  rather  displeased 
surprise. 

"Know  me!  and  as  what?  or  whom?" 

"  As  one  with  whom  I  have  some  mysterious  connec 
tion.  Oh,  give  me  a  name  by  which  to  call  you !" 

Surveying  Walter  from  head  to  foot  in  silence,  and 
with  an  expression  difficult  to  define,  though  certainly 
inquisitorial  and  severe,  his  face  at  length  melted  into  a 


A   PEEP   AT  THE   PAST.  47 

smile  meant  to  inspire  confidence,  and  he  replied,  "  You 
shall  know  me,  and  for  your  best  friend.  There,  give 
me  your  hand.  Now  let  us  be  seated.  Here4  is  a  rock 
that  will  serve  for  our  purpose.  I  have  something  to 
say,  and  not  much  time.  First,  let  me  express  my  sat 
isfaction  with  yourself— nay,  hear  me,"  continued  he, 
in  a  less  gentle  tone;  "I  have  the  right,  young  man,  to 
commend  or  to  blame — reward  or  punish — therefore  lis 
ten  without  interruption.  Your  appearance,  your  air, 
your  language,  all  indicate  that  my  choice  of  a  guardian 
was  well  made.  Go  on  as  you  have  begun,  and  success 
will  be  yours." 

"  Success!"  repeated  Walter ;  "  I  want  affection,  confi 
dence,  and  that  which  is  not  refused  to  the  poorest — the 
knowledge  of  who  and  what  I  am." 

"  And  can  any  one,"  replied  the  stranger,  with  a  sar 
castic  smile,  "  can  any  one  better  instruct  you  than  your 
self?  What  makes  your  identity  but  your  own  mind ; 
your  own  consciousness  ?  What  can  I  tell  you  of  Wal 
ter  Thornley  that  you  do  not  know  better  than  I  do  ?" 

"Oh,  do  not  trifle  with  me!"  exclaimed  Walter,  no 
longer  able  to  restrain  his  emotion.  "  I  entreat  you, 
I  conjure  you  by  every  thing  sacred  to  tell  me  what  my 
heart  is  bursting  to  know — tell  me  what  gives  you  a 
right  over  me?  by  what  name  I  should  call  you?  by 
what  name  should  I  know  myself?  Oh,  tell  me !"  said 
he,  with  a  gush  of  feeling  that  had  little  effe.ct  on  his 
hearer. 

"  Be  calm,  Walter.  This  will  not  advance  your  ob 
ject.  I  am  not  to  be  moved  from  a  purpose  by  the  tears 
of  a  boy.  You  must  remain  for  such  time  as  I  alone 
shall  decide  in  your  present  ignorance.  I  will  only  say 
that,  if  you  do  not  thwart  me,  you  shall  eventually  know 
all.  If  you  do,"  he  added,  with  a  threatening  aspect, 
"you  will  never  know.  Be  obedient,  be  satisfied  to  re- 


48  WALTER  THORNLEY;  OR, 

main  as  I  have  placed  you,  and  it  will  make  the  happi 
ness  of  both ;  for  let  me  tell  you  that  we  are  each  to  the 
other  a  destiny — for  good  or  for  evil,  as  you  shall  act." 

These  words,  uttered  with  a  look  and  tone  that  sent 
a  chill  to  "Walter's  heart,  silenced  him;  but  his  spirit 
was  working  strongly  within  him.  The  authoritative 
and  menacing  voice,  the  cold — almost  contemptuous — 
answers  to  his  natural  yearnings,  the  smile  of  irony  at 
such  a  time,  all  repelled  his  confidence  and  roused  his 
resentment.  Starting  to  his  feet,  he  exclaimed,  in  the 
impotent  violence  of  a  boy,  "  I  will  know ;  you  shall  no 
longer  trifle  with  me  1" 

Peto,  a  close  observer,  instinctively  felt  that  all  was 
not  right.  From  the  first  he  had  cast  a  doubtful  eye  on 
this  unknown  visitor ;  but  now,  when  he  saw  him  rise, 
and  lay  an  arm  on  Walter  with  a  view  to  check  his  im 
petuosity,  a  hostile  growl,  and  a  slight  movement  of  his 
upper  lip,  indicated  that  he  required  but  small  encour 
agement  to  make  an  inconvenient  member  of  the  con 
ference. 

"  I  advise  you,"  said  the  stranger,  with  an  angry  glance 
of  distrust  at  Peto,  "  to  keep  both  yourself  and  your  dog 
under  better  control ;  unless,  indeed,  you  intend  to  use 
his  fangs  to  effect  the  determination  you  have  just  ex 
pressed." 

"Oh,  sir!"  said  Walter,  cruelly  wounded,  "how  can 
you  speak  to  me  in  this  manner?  If  you  could  only 
see  my  heart !  You  once  treated  me  kindly.  I  have 
not  forgotten  it.  I  once  looked  on  you  as  my  only 
friend.  Oh!"  exclaimed  he,  trying  to  take  his  hand, 
and  resentment  subdued  by  those  recollections,  "oh, 
look  at  me,  and  speak  to  me  differently !" 

The  stranger  was  moved.  He  did  not  reject  Walter's 
hand ;  he  was  silent  for  a  moment ;  then,  in  a  voice  rough 
with  the  emotion  he  endeavored  to  suppress,  he  said, 


A  PEEP  AT  THE   PAST.  49 

"  Pshaw !  folly !  enough  of  this.  You  have  heard  my 
conditions — 'tis  needless  to  repeat  them.  I  have  but  one 
other  thing  to  say.  Your  remittances  have  been  irreg 
ular  ;  they  may  be  so  again,  but  you  are  never  to  make 
that  a  pretext  for  disobedience,  or  worse  may  follow. 
Here  is  something  for  the  present — more  will  come." 
Then  presenting  a  purse,  which  Walter  unheeding  let 
fall  to  the  ground,  and  shaking  himself  loose  from  the 
grasp  which  would  still  have  detained  him,  he  plunged 
into  a  thicket  near  them,  and  was  soon  seen  crossing  the 
rude  bridge  that  spanned  the  ravine.  Peto  sprang  after 
him,  but,  recalled  by  his  master,  he  only  tossed  up  his 
head,  and,  giving  the  short,  angry  bark  by  which  dogs 
express  their  contempt  at  an  unsatisfactory  encounter, 
looked  up  in  "Walter's  face  to  congratulate  him. 

But  he  was  in  no  mood  to  return  it.  The  twilight 
had  faded  away,  and  the  night  that  was  settling  on  him 
seemed  an  emblem  of  the  greater  darkness  that  now  fell 
on  his  future.  Throwing  himself  on  the  ground,  bury 
ing  his  face  in  his  hands,  he  gave  vent  to  the  conflicting 
feelings  with  which  he  had  thus  far  struggled.  Again 
and  again  he  reviewed  the  scene  just  passed;  again  he 
repeated  every  word  and  studied  every  look.  He  could 
extract  no  comfort,  no  assurance — nothing  but  that  he 
was  a  helpless  boy  in  the  power  of  a  hard  man. 

Long  he  lay  and  bitterly  he  ruminated,  till  a  lovely 
young  moon  peeping  through  the  trees  offered  to  light 
him  home.  He  rose,  and  Peto,  who  had  not  left  his 
side,  gave  a  jump  and  a  joyous  bark;  but,  as  if  sudden 
ly  recollecting  himself,  made  a  pounce  upon  the  rustling 
leaves,  and,  extracting  something,  brought  it  with  a  wag 
of  his  tail  to  his  master.  It  was  the  purse,  of  which 
Walter  had  not  thought  since  it  dropped,  and  which  he 
now  took  almost  mechanically.  It  was  heavy  with  gold, 
but  he  did  not  examine  it. 

C 


50  WALTEK  THORNLEY;  OK, 

"I'll  never  use  a  dollar  of  it,"  said  he,  proudly,  "till 
.1  know  by  what  right  he  dares  to  give  it  to  me.  Come, 
Peto,  home  1" 

On  reaching  the  house  he  found  Damie  just  setting 
forth  in  search  of  him.  Her  troubled  brow  changed  to 
a  frown  of  displeasure  as  soon  as  she  saw  him  safe. 

"What  on  airth, Walter,  made  you  stay  so?  I  ex 
pected  nothin'  but  that  you'd  broke  your  neck  climbin' 
them  there  rocks.  It  is  ridic'lous  to  frighten  us  so! 
stayin'  out  all  day,  too,  without  half  victuals  enough — 
no  wonder  you  look  so  dragged !  Your  uncle  has  been 
walkin'  up  and  down,  worried  most  to  pieces,  I  can  tell 
you." 

He  passed  her  with  but  few  words,  and,  going  to  Mr. 
Grafton's  room,  found  him  anxiously  looking  from  a 
window. 

At  the  sound  of  Walter's  step  he  turned  to  express 
his  relief,  but,  struck  by  his  countenance,  exclaimed, 
"  What  is  the  matter  ?  What  has  happened  ?" 

Walter  could  answer  only  by  throwing  himself  into  a 
chair,  and  saying,  "I  have  seen  him!  I  have  seen 
him!" 

"  Whom,  Walter  ?     What  can  you  mean  ?" 

"That  man!" 

Mr.  Grafton  seated  himself  by  him,  took  his  hand,  and 
forbore  farther  questioning  till  he  had  soothed  him  suf 
ficiently  to  give  voluntarily  the  particulars  of  the  inter 
view.  He  heard  them  indignantly ;  but  chiefly  intent 
on  quieting  Walter's  fearful  agitation,  he  said,  gently, 
"  Be  comforted,  my  dear  boy !  We  have  still  one  thing 
to  be  thankful  to  him  for:  he  has  not  separated  us,  as 
he  might  have  done  had  it  suited  his  purpose,  and  as 
remorselessly  as  he  has  now  wounded  you." 

"  Separate  me  from  you  I  He  should  have  killed  me 
first!" 


A   PEEP   AT  THE   PAST.  51 

The  next  morning  Mr.  Grafton,  not  farther  to  excite 
Walter,  went  alone  to  South  End  to  make  inquiries.  A 
gentleman  had  arrived  there  on  horseback  late  in  the 
preceding  afternoon ;  had  asked  some  questions  as  to 
roads,  and  the  shortest  walk  to  the  upper  village ;  had 
then  set  out  on  foot  "  to  see  the  falls,"  as  he  said.  He 
returned  after  sunset,  immediately  called  for  his  horse, 
and  went  away.  Nothing  farther  was  known  or  could 
be  heard  of  him. 

This  occurrence  proved  an  occasion  of  increased  solic 
itude  to  Mr.  Grafton.  Walter,  though  always  more 
thoughtful  than  boys  of  his  age,  had  never  been  other 
than  cheerful  and  happy.  His  temper,  sweet  and  affec 
tionate,  was  never  ruffled  by  unreasonable  or  capricious 
moods ;  always  kind  and  obliging  to  others ;  unexacting 
and  grateful  for  himself.  But  now  Mr.  Grafton  remark 
ed  with  pain  that  he  was  listless,  gloomy,  irritable,  though 
never  so  to  him ;  excited  to  sudden  causeless  anger,  then 
even  unreasonably  self-accusing — all  indicating  the  rude 
shock  his  nature  had  received.  Of  the  stranger  he  rare 
ly  spoke :  when  he  did  so,  it  was  with  a  proud,  defiant 
air. 


52  WALTJEK  THOBKLEY  J   OK, 


CHAPTER  VI. 

ANOTHER  interval,  and  Walter,  who  was  left  a  fitful 
boy  of  fifteen — that  sensitive  age  when,  to  the  inexperi 
enced  observer,  a  sudden,  strange  perversity  often  seems 
to  blight  the  sweet  promise  of  earlier  years,  now  reap 
pears,  when  nearly  twenty -one.  The  interval,  unmark 
ed  by  any  change  in  his  external  condition,  by  notice 
from  the  stranger,  or  even  by  the  remittances  that  might 
have  been  expected,  had  left  a  strong  impression  on 
himself.  The  irritation  induced  by  his  peculiar  con 
dition,  acting  on  the  susceptibility  of  youth,  had  sub 
sided.  The  feverish  impatience  of  concealment,  the  fret 
ful  resistance  of  a  power  he  could  neither  comprehend 
nor  love,  the  galling  sense  of  dependence,  had  all  gradu 
ally  fallen  under  the  control  of  reason.  He  had  learned 
to  look  his  situation  in  the  face,  and  had  even  dared  to 
form  his  own  plans. 

"  I  belong  to  God  and  myself,"  he  had  reflected. 
"There  only  I  am  accountable  for  whatever  powers 
have  been  intrusted  to  me,  and  I  will  not  waste  them  in 
a  cowardly  subserviency  to  any  human  being.  Nor 
will  I  permit  my  inner  self  to  be  the  victim  of  cruelty 
and  caprice.  '  My  mind  to  me  a  kingdom  is.'  There  I 
will  reign  supreme." 

These  were  no  vain  resolves,  as  was  manifested  by 
the  fast  maturing  character  of  Walter.  It  might,  in  a 
different  state  of  things,  have  been  almost  to  be  regret 
ted  that  one  so  young  should  be  so  wise ;  his  natural 
impulsiveness  so  repressed ;  the  frank,  confiding  tem 
per — the  beauty  of  youth — so  checked.  But  he  be- 


A  PEEr  AT  THE  PAST.  63 

lieved  that  it  depended  on  himself  alone  to  be  saved 
from  the  palsying  effect  of  his  condition. 

"I  have,"  he  thought,  ua  solitary  and  hard  path  be 
fore  me ;  but,  like  the  princess  in  the  fairy  tale,  I  must 
not  falter,  whatever  threats  assail  me.  I  may  have  much 
to  bear ;  I  must,  then,  learn  to  be  strong.  I  must  be  my 
own  counselor ;  I  must,  therefore,  keep  my  feelings  in 
subjection,  and  to  do  so  I  must  keep  them  to  myself." 

"  My  dear  sir,"  said  he  one  morning  to  Mr.  Grafton, 
"  I  have  completed  my  majority,  and  though  I  can  never 
sufficiently  bless  your  kind  guardianship,  'tis  time  to  re 
lieve  you  of  it." 

Mr.  Grafton  looked  at  him  in  silent  surprise. 

"Yes,  sir  ;  this  Walter  Thornley,  who,  as  child,  boy, 
and  man,  has  given  you  so  much  trouble,  must  hence 
forth  take  care  of  himself." 

"But,  Walter — if  I  understand  you — hear  me  a  mo 
ment.  My  guardianship  was  restricted  by  no  legal 
forms;  it  was  to  continue  till  those  having  a  natural 
right  should  claim  you." 

"  And  how  long,  sir,"  replied  Walter,  with  a  cold 
smile,  "  do  you  suppose  that  would  be?  No ;  my  reso 
lution  is  taken.  Forgive  me  if  this  has  been  done  with 
out  consulting  you ;  but  I  felt  I  must  act,  or  die.  I  am 
not,  however,  so  presumptuous,  so  self-confident  as  not 
to  beg  your  continued  guidance  so  far  as  to  put  me,  if 
you  can,  in  the  right  way,  but  go  I  must." 

"Go!  where,  Walter?" 

"Anywhere !  any  where  from  Ashton,  that,  left  wholly 
to  myself,  I  may  ascertain  what  I  can  do." 

Mr.  Grafton,  grieved  as  he  was  at  this  unexpected  de 
termination,  saw,  nevertheless,  a  purpose  so  fixed,  that 
to  resist  might  result  in  mutual  unhappiness.  The  only 
thing  to  do  was  to  try  to  guide  it ;  and,  revolving  it  in 
his  mind,  as  Walter  continued  to  urge  its  necessity,  he 


54  WALTER  THORNLEY;  on, 

became  in  part  a  convert,  in  so  far  as  to  acquiesce  in  an 
attempt  to  carry  out  his  wishes.  •  Nothing  short  of  that, 
he  saw,  would  satisfy  him ;  should  it  fail,  he  might  be 
content  to  remain  as  he  was. 

The  first  thing  that  occurred  to  Mr.  Grafton  was  to 
enter  him  as  a  clerk  in  a  lawyer's  office  in  New  York ; 
in  proposing  which,  he  added,  "  The  fee  paid  on  such 
occasions  is  not  large.  I  have  at  my  command  enough 
for  that,  and  for  your  other  expenses  during  your  ap 
prenticeship." 

"  No,  sir,"  said  Walter.  "  To  this  moment  I  have 
been  your  pensioner.  I  can  not  be  so  hereafter.  I  will 
leave  the  law  for  a  time,  till  I  have  by  some  means 
earned  enough  to  pay  my  own  way." 

"  Walter  I"  said  Mr.  Grafton,  with  much  feeling,  "you 
are  wrong.  You  are  trying  to  create  new  relations  be 
tween  us.  No  longer  father  and  child,  we  are  to  be 
debtor  and  creditor.  The  little  I  have  is,  and  will  be 
yours..  Why  treat  me  thus  ?" 

Walter  took  his  hand;  he  pressed  it;  he  bent  his 
head  over  it ;  choked  down  the  tears  that  were  rising  to 
his  eyes,  and,  when  he  could  speak,  said  every  thing  that 
gratitude  and  affection  dictated,  but  remained  unmoved 
in  his  decision. 

"  It  must  be  so.  If  you  would  see  me  a  man,  let  me 
go,  sir,  and  in  my  own  way." 

The  next  thing  thought  of  was  to  write  to  Mr.  Mid- 
dleton.  He  had  once  proffered  his  assistance.  There 
was,  therefore,  no  impropriety  in  asking  merely  if  he 
knew  of  any  employment  adapted  to  Walter,  stating  his 
eager  desire,  by  his  own  efforts,  to  secure  his  support. 

The  letter  sent,  Walter  was  more  at  ease.  The  first  and 
most  painful  step  had  been  taken — the  communication  to 
Mr.  Grafton.  In  about  a  week  letters  were  received,  and 
among  others  the  desired  answer  from  Mr.  Middleton. 


A  PEEP  AT  THE  PAST.  55 

Walter  watched  his  guardian's  countenance  while  he 
read.  At  first  it  expressed  blank  disappointment,  then 
with  a  sudden  burst  of  indignation  he  threw  it  toward 
Walter,  exclaiming,  "  O  World !  World !  did  I  not  do 
well  to  quit  you!" 

The  letter,  polite  and  cold,  in  substance  was  as  fol 
lows  :  Mr.  Middleton  was  surprised  at  the  application, 
which  if  he  had  ever  authorized,  it  must  have  been  un 
der  an  impulse  that  reflection  would  have  checked ;  for 
how  could  he,  a  retired  stranger  in  a  foreign  country,  be 
supposed  to  have  any  practical  knowledge  available  to 
Walter?  He  wished  the  lad  success;  but,  so  far  as  he 
might  venture  to  suggest,  for  one  so  young,  without  pat 
ronage  or  fortune,  his  present  obscurity  was  his  safest 
condition.  With  good  wishes  for  himself,  etc.,  etc.,  it 
concluded. 

"Well,"  said  Walter,  calmly,  "it  is  just  as  I  once 
thought.  Mr.  Middleton  is  insane,  and  if  not,  then 
worse — much  obliged  by  his  advice,  which  we  can  do 
without.  What  next  shall  we  turn  to,  sir  ?" 

But  Mr.  Graffcon's  attention  was  riveted  on  a  letter  he 
had  just  opened,  and  which,  though  he  looked  at  it,  he 
did  not  appear  to  read.  Presently  he  ran  it  hastily  over, 
and,  as  if  relieved,  said,  "  I  beg  your  pardon,  Walter. 
The  sight  of  a  handwriting  I  had  not  seen  for  many 
years  startled  me ;  I  feared  I  could  not  say  what ;  but, 
like  many  terrors  with  which  we  torment  ourselves, 
mine  was  unfounded.  Among  other  matter,  the  letter 
contains  somewhat  that  has  a  bearing  on  our  present 
perplexities.  The  gentleman's  name  is  Meredith;  his 
residence  is  in  New  York,  where  you  prefer  to  go :  hear 
what  he  says." 

After  a  reference  to  early  friendship  and  long  separa 
tion,  the  letter  proceeded  as  follows : 


56  WALTER  THOBNLEY;  OK, 

"  I  almost  question  my  right  to  give  you  any  trouble, 
and  yet,  if  you  are  what  you  once  were,  you  will 
not  refuse  to  oblige  a  friend.  I  have  an  only  child,  a 
daughter.  She  has  had,  thus  far,  what  is  called  the 
best  instruction,  but  it  is  superficial  and  of  little  value ; 
something  more  is  necessary  to  satisfy  me.  But  young 
people  now-a-days  think  that  they,  too,  constitute  a  re 
public,  and  are  quite  capable  of  self-government;  and 
for  this  reason  I  will  not  send  my  daughter  to  a  board 
ing-school,  where  she  will  learn  little  but  insubordina 
tion.  The  only  alternative  is  a  l  select'  one,  as  they  are 
called,  or  private  lessons.  I  have  tried  both,  and  like 
neither.  But  if  I  could  find  a  competent  tutor,  who 
should  reside  in  my  family,  I  believe  that,  with  his  in 
struction  and  my  supervision,  my  object  can  be  secured. 
I  wish  her  to  have  a  solid  education — Latin  and  mathe 
matics  as  the  foundation,  and  on  this  a  superstructure  of 
history,  philosophy,  and  whatever  else  we  may  agree 
upon.  If  you  happen  to  know  of  a  person  qualified  for 
this  charge,  and*  at  the  same  time  unexceptionable,  please 
inform  me:  his  salary  shall  be  so  liberal  as  to  satisfy 
him." 

%•  •  -  *  - 

" I  will  take  the  place,  sir,"  said  Walter;  " that  is,  if 
you  can  recommend  me." 

"  Consider,  Walter.  It  may  be  very  irksome ;  it  may 
even  be  offensive ;  it  often  is  so ;  for  parents,  with  an 
absurd  inconsistency,  will  trust  the  minds  and  hearts  of 
children  to  persons  whom  they  will,  nevertheless,  treat 
as  inferiors.  In  this  case,  however,  such  injustice  may 
be  prevented.  You  should  go  as  my  ward;  you  will 
then  be  put  on  the  footing  to  which  you  are  entitled." 

u  Pardon  me,  sir — in  that  way  I  decline  to  go.  It 
would  be  improper  as  it  regards  the  parents,  and  fatal  to 
my  duty  as  a  teacher.  As  your  friend  and  ward,  Mr. 


A  PEEP  AT  THE  PAST.  57 

and  Mrs.  Meredith  would  not  feel  at  liberty  to  make  de 
mands  or  to  find  deficiencies ;  and,  on  my  part,  courtesy 
to  your  friends  would  restrict  the  uncompromising  fidel 
ity  due  to  my  pupil.  Forgive  me  if  I  presume  to  differ 
from  you ;  but  I  fear  lest  your  tenderness  for  me  should 
mislead  you.  Send  me  with  such  credentials  as  to  char 
acter  and  competency  as  you  think  I  deserve,  but  noth 
ing  more.  For  the  rest,  I  prefer  to  depend  on  myself. 
If  they  fail  in  common  delicacy  or  humanity,  I  leave 
them,  but  I  will  claim  nothing  as  your  protege." 

Mr.  Grafton  reflected.  He  did  not  partake  of  Walter's 
proud  indifference  in  regard  to  the  mysterious  person 
who  had,  or  assumed  to  have,  a  supreme  right  over  him. 
He  did  not,  indeed,  expect  good  from  him,  but  he  was 
not  equally  sure  that  he  had  not  the  power  to  injure. 
Walter's  plan  had  one  recommendation — it  would  pre 
vent  embarrassing  questions,  and  tend  to  the  incognito 
he  wished  him  to  preserve.  He  therefore  acceded  to  it. 

"But  how,  my  dear  boy,  am  I  to  live  without  you?" 
sadly  exclaimed  Mr.  Grafton  when  other  considerations 
had  been  weighed. 

"Say,  rather,  how  am  I  to  live  without  you,  sir? 
But  no,  I  shall  not  be  without  you.  Your  affection,  your 
advice,  and  your  wishes  will  be  ever  with  me  to  com 
fort  and  guide  me." 

An  answer  was  immediately  returned  to  Mr.  Mere 
dith,  and  after  a  short  time  came  an  acceptance  of  the 
tutor,  but  so  qualified  as  a  good  deal  to  nettle  Mr.  Graf- 
ton.  "If  he  did  not  prove,  on  trial,  to  be  satisfactory, 
he  would  be  returned,  all  expenses  paid." 

"  I  will  not  send  you  like  a  bale  of  merchandise,"  said 
Mr.  Grafton. 

Walter  laughed.  "Do  not  take  it  so,  my  dear  sir; 
this  is  just  what  I  should  have  wished.  It  is  exactly 
fitted  to  my  humor." 

02 


58  WALTER  THOENLEY;  OR, 

Walter's  preparations  were  now  to  be  made,  and  in  a 
state  of  astonishment  and  alarm  Damie  appeared.  Years 
had  increased  her  attachment  to  Mr.  Grafton  and  his 
ward,  but  they  had  also  invested  her  with  privileges 
sometimes  inconvenient.  Like  Corporal  Trim,  she 
"loved  to  advise,"  and  an  occasion  now  offered  itself. 

"  Is  Walter  going  away  ?" 

"  Yes,  Damie." 

"But  where  under  the  canopy  can  he  be  so  well  off 
as  here,  sir  ?" 

"  Young  birds  must  leave  the  nest,  Damie." 

"  Yes,  and  hawks  must  catch  'em,  too :  what  is  he  goin' 
for,  sir?" 

"  To  seek  his  fortune,"  said  Mr.  Grafton,  with  a  shrug 
intended  to  check  farther  inquiry.  "He  naturally  de 
sires  to  earn  his  own  snpport." 

" '  Arn  his  own  support !' "  repeated  Damie,  her  reluc 
tance  to  part  with  Walter  inducing  her  to  disparage  his 
ability — "'arn  his  support!'  why,  what  in  all  natur' 
can  he  do  ?  He's  never  done  nothin'  but  jest  study  and 
larn.  He  might  be  a  minister,  be  sure — he  knows 
enough ;  but  he  hasn't  no  call  for  that.  What,  then,  can 
he  do?" 

"  The  next  thing  to  preaching,  Damie :  he  is  going  to 
teach." 

"To  teach?  and  where,  sir?  and  who?" 

"  A  gentleman's  daughter  in  New  York." 

"  Goin'  to  teach  one  gal  1"  replied  she,  contemptuous 
ly.  "Well,  if  that  isn't  a  poor  business!  Teaching 
thirty  or  forty  might  be  worth  a  man's  while.  Why 
not  take  the  district-school  here  ?" 

"But  suppose,  Damie,  that  he  should  receive  more  for 
one  scholar  there  than  he  would  for  the  whole  school 
here—" 

"More!  why,  is  she  so  hard  to  larn?    She  isn't  un- 


A  PEEP  AT  THE   PAST.  59 

der-witted,  sir,  is  she?"  continued  Damie,  with  a  jeering 
smile ;  "  if  she  be,  'tis,  be  sure,  a  pretty  hard  place." 

"No ;  bright  and  quick  enough,  I'll  engage." 

"And  what  will  he  get,  sir?" 

"  They  will  settle  that  when  they  meet." 

"  If  I  was  you,  sir,  I  wouldn't  let  him  stir  a  step  till 
I  knew.  'Tis  no  way  to  send  the  poor  lad  off  'mong 
strangers,  and  let  them  impose  on  him." 

"  Never  fear,  Damie.  Walter  is  not  a  person  to  be 
imposed  on.  You  and  I  shall  miss  him  greatly,  but  if 
for  his  advantage,  we  must  bear  it,  you  know." 

But  not  heeding  this  reflection,  she  proceeded : 

"Ever  since,  in  this  very  room,  he  showed  me  his 
poor  scratched  little  hand,  I've  set  by  him.  Boys,  I 
know,  are  hateful,  always  turnin'  up  Jack.  I  never 
could  bear  any  on  'em  but  Walter." 

"  But  Walter  has  not  been  perfect,  Damie." 

"Parfect!  no,  be  sure;  who  is?  But  when  once  in 
a  while  he  was  unruly  he  would  be  so  sorry  a'terward, 
and  wanted  so  to  make  it  up ;  I  only  loved  him  better 
for't.  Besides,  it  was  jest  because  he  was  growin'  so  fast." 

"  Well,  well,  don't  grieve,  my  good  Damie ;  he  will 
return  to  us  all  the  happier  and  wiser  for  experience." 

"But  when,  sir?  People  go,  but  they  don't  always 
come  back!"  and  her  voice  grew  thick.  "I've  heard 
that  afore;  we  may  be  all  dead  and  buried  when  he 
comes — " 

"No,  no,  not  so  bad;  a  few  months  and  we  shall  see 
him  again." 

Silenced,  if  not  resigned,  Damie  retired;  but  it  was 
to  pour  out  to  Walter  what  she  might  not  say  to  Mr. 
Grafton.  His  wardrobe  before  her  to  examine,  mend, 
make,  and  in  all  respects  arrange,  while  he  occasionally 
offered  a  suggestion,  she  resumed  her  theme ;  lamented 
and  advised,  concluding  with,  "And  what  in  all  natur' 


60  WALTER  THORNLEY;    OR, 

is  your  uncle  to  do  without  you  ?  You  have  been  the 
savin'  on  him !" 

"/save  him!"  exclaimed  "Walter,  who  would  have 
reversed  the  proposition. 

"Yes,  yes.  Savin'  on  him!  be  sure  you  have.  I 
mind  what  he  was  afore  you  come  ;  nothin'  but  teachin' 
you  and  playin'  with  you  put  any  life  in  him ;  and  now, 
when  he  hasn't  got  no  special  trouble,  he  looks  younger 
than  when  you  come.  He  looked  so  poor  then,  you 
hav'n't  no  notion,  Walter.  Folks  said  he  was  only  sick 
ly  ;  'twasn't  no  such  thing,  except  it  was  heart-sickness. 
I've  watched  him  many  a  time  set  and  look  in  the  fire 
as  if  he  was  clean  out  of  the  body,  and  then  start  up, 
take  his  hat,  and  walk  out.  By-and-by  he'd  come  in, 
lookin'  maybe  a  little  better,  but  so  sorrowful  and  down 
like.  But  no  matter  what  the  trouble  was,  he  never 
wasn't  cross  nor  fretty.  He  seemed  to  want  to  make 
others  happy,  even  if  he  couldn't  be  so.  Well,  I  guess 
I  know.  I  larnt  the  signs,"  said  she,  shaking  her  head; 
"  'twas  a  hard  lesson,  but  I  hav'n't  never  forgot  it." 

"What  do  you  mean,  Damie?  This  is  all  new  to 
me." 

"  Yes,  I  suppose  so ;  for  now  when  he  has  any  such 
turn  come  over  him,  and  once  in  a  while  it  will  come, 
we  call  it  narvous,  you  know.  That's  as  good  a  name 
as  any;  but,  Lord!  what  different  things  it  means! 
Now  the  plain  truth,  Walter,  is  that,  sure  as  I  stand 
here,  your  uncle  was  disappinted,  crossed  in  love  as 
folks  say.  I  can  tell;  I  hav'n't  had  experence  for 
nothin'." 

"  Experience,  Damie !" 

"Yes,  Walter;  for  all  what  I  seem  to  you  now,  I 
wasn't  so  always.  I  had — I  had — a  friend — " 

Damie  stopped,  and  Walter,  touched  by  the  workings 
of  her  strong  expressive  face,  looked  at  her  in  silence. 


A  PEEP  AT  THE  PAST.  61 

Then,  as  if  ashamed  of  a  weakness,  she  proceeded,  with 
an  effort :  "  Lost  at  sea ;  news  came  the  very  day  we'd 
fix'd  for  our  publishment."  After  another  pause,  "Nev 
er  love  to  speak  on't.  A  dreadful  storm !  that's  why  I 
fly  round  so  when  the  wind  blows.  I  can  do  three  days' 
work  in  one  when  it  storms.  They  brought  me  home 
his  watch;  'twas  hangin'  in  his  berth  when  he  was 
knocked  overboard,  and  there  'tis  now  at  the  head  of 
my  bed,  keepin'  time  for  me  till  he  and  I  meet  in  etar- 
nity." 

Walter,  in  happy  ignorance  of  similar  emotions,  knew 
not  how  to  address  her.  He  only  took  her  hand  and 
pressed  it  kindly ;  and,  after  a  moment's  hesitation,  said, 
"  Yes,  Damie,  though  parted  here,  we  shall  find  those 
we  love  in  Heaven.  Perhaps  you  are  right  about  my 
uncle.  I  can  not  tell ;  but  whatever  trouble  he  may 
have  had,  it  has  only  made  him  a  better  man.  Some 
persons  it  makes  worse,  you  know." 

"So  it  does,  Walter.  It  makes  their  hearts  harder 
than  Pharaoh's.  But  don't  let's  say  no  more  about  it. 
These  here  shirts,  Walter,  ar'n't  no  dependence.  You 
had  ought  to  have  told  me  in  time,  and  I  would  have 
made  you  a  new  set ;  but  never  mind,  I'll  go  right  at 
'em  as  soon  as  you  are  gone,  and  send  'em  to  you.  Let 
me  see ;  this  is  your  best  coat,  not  much  the  worse  for 
wear.  I'll  put  new  cuffs,  and  then  it'll  do." 

Walter  smiled.  "  City  folks,  I  hear,  are  critical,  Da 
mie.  I  shall  want  a  new  coat." 

"  Well,  you  wouldn't,  if  you  staid  here,  in  six  months. 
So  it  goes.  What's  the  use  arniii'  money  if  you  must 
spend  it  all?  jest  as  good  stay  here  and  not  want  it. 
Now  let  me  see — stockin's?  Yes,  all  right;  but'no- 
body'll  darn  'em  for  you  now.  Be  sure  you  keep  count 
of  all  your  things,  for  they  say  that  down  in  York 
they'll  steal  the  eyes  out  of  your  head.  Now  one  thing 


62  WALTER  THORNLEY;  OR, 

more  I  want  to  say  to  you,  "Walter.  It  lias  been  on  my 
mind  for  many  a  day,  but  while  you  was  here  there 
wasn't  no  use  speakin'  of  it.  You  know  I  am  not  ex 
pensive  ;  and,  as  I  hav'n't  any  near  relation,  I've  saved 
up  mostly  all  my  wages,  and  Mr.  Grafton  has  put  'em 
out  for  me.  Now  this  I  mean  for  you — don't  go  for  to 
interrupt  me.  Yes,  for  you.  I  hav'n't  nobody  else  to 
give  it  to.  But,  mind,  Walter,  it  is  only  in  case  you  be 
have.  My  honest  arnin's  sha'n't  never  go  to  be  spent  in 
any  wickedness  or  folly.  I  meant  to  keep  it  all  a  gath- 
erin'  till  I  died,  and  so  leave  you  a  good  lump  at  once ; 
but  what's  the  use?  So,  if  you  want  some  on't  now, 
here's  twenty  silver  dollars  in  my  chest  for  you  to  take 
with  you ;  and  if  any  misfortin  befalls  you,  let  me  know, 
and  I  will  send  you  what  you  want." 

No  kindness  had  ever  touched  "Walter  more ;  but, 
with  the  heartiest  expression  of  his  feeling,  he  neverthe 
less  resolutely  declined  the  good  creature's  offer,  who 
could  only  be  reconciled  to  his  refusal  by  a  promise  that 
if  the  money  were  required  he  would  certainly  send 
for  it 


A  PEEP  AT  THE  PAST.  63 


CHAPTER  VII. 

THE  day  for  Walter's  departure  came,  and  with  a 
manly  front,  but  a  throbbing  heart,  he  bade  farewell  to 
his  friends.  As  he  turned  for  a  last  look  at  the  dear 
old  weather-beaten  house,  with  its  Puritan  roof  descend 
ing  to  the  very  tops  of  the  windows,  that  seemed  to  look 
out  from  the  projecting  eaves  like  eyes  from  under  over 
hanging  brows,  he  cast  many  tender  thoughts  to  this 
shelter  of  his  helpless  years,  and  devoutly  asked  that 
peace  might  rest  upon  it  till  he  should  see  it  again. 

According  to  her  custom,  Damie  sought  her  consola* 
tion  in  work ;  and  after  adjusting  Walter's  deserted  room, 
religiously  preserving  every  article  he  had  left,  and  lock 
ing  the  door,  she  was  "flying  round,"  as  she  termed  it, 
in  search  of  other  safety-valves  for  her  excited  sensibil 
ity,  when  a  well-known  voice  met  her  ear,  and  a  man 
entered  the  kitchen,  singing, 

"A  white  cockade  and  a  peacock's  feather, 
American  boys  will  fight  forever !" 

"Why,  Jed,"  she  exclaimed,  "is  that  you?  Where 
have  you  been  ?  I  began  to  mistrust  you'd  gone  to  the 
( Hios,'  "  a  name  by  which  she  and  others  not  better  in 
formed  designated  Ohio,  and  inclusively  the  great  north 
western  Ultima  Thule,  "and  that  I'd  never  set  eyes  on 
you  again.  When  did  you  come  back  ?" 

Before  he  answers  he  must  be  more  particularly  in 
troduced  than  he  has  yet  been.  He  now  reappeared 
after  a  tramp  in  his  commercial  capacity,  with  his  pack 
on  his  back,  instead  of  a  gun,  or  a  pole  suspending  a 
string  offish.  Having  been  "  on  the  circuit,"  as  he  dig 
nified  his  calling,  he  wore  the  remains  of  a  cocked  hat, 


64 

part  of  his  array  when  serving  among  "  the  old  Conti 
nentals."  The  "  regimentals"  themselves,  still  in  exist 
ence,  were  reserved  for  the  4th  of  July  and  other  extra 
occasions,  among  which  was  included  "  goin'  to  meetin'," 
which  he  did  when  birds  were  not  in  season  and  when 
fish  wouldn't  bite.  In  person,  short  and  thick,  with  a 
slight  limp  in  his  gait,  a  full  ruddy  face,  a  pleasant  smile, 
quick  gray  eyes — in  one  a  cast,  which  gave  to  his  coun 
tenance  a  comical  and  roguish  expression ;  hair  slightly 
turned  and  thinned,  more  by  hardship  than  years :  such 
was  Jed's  outward  man. 

"  Not  see  me  again !  Why,  Damie,  my  dear,  I'm  the 
sort  that  always  comes  back.  Them  that's  no  use  to 
nobody" — with  a  self-satisfied  air — "  is  always  sartin  to 
come  back." 

"Now,  Jed,  don't  go  for  to  be  modest,  or  I  shall  be 
rally  uneasy  about  you." 

"  Well,  then,  Damie,  you  sha'n't  have  no  consarn  about 
me  on  that  account.  When  did  I  come?  Why  this 
very  minute,  and  of  course  I  couldn't  pass  your  door." 

"  And  you  haven't  had  no  breakfast,  I  know ;  so  sit 
down  and  you  shall  have  a  hot  rasher." 

While  she  prepared  it  and  bustled  "  round,"  he  disen 
cumbered  himself  of  his  pack,  and  stretched  his  legs  on 
the  settle,  giving  forth,  according  to  his  custom,  scraps 
of  old  songs.  At  length,  seating  him  at  the  table,  Da 
mie  rested  for  a  few  moments  from  her  labors ;  but  such 
a  gloom  gathered  over  her  face,  that  Jed  remarked  it, 
and,  resting  his  knife  and  fork,  exclaimed,  "  What  ails 
you,  Darnie  ?  Any  thing  happened  ?" 

"  No,  I'm  well  enough,  only  tired  some,  getting  up  so 
early  to  help  Walter  off." 

"  Walter  off!"  repeated  Jed,  with  a  look  of  consterna 
tion.  "  Where  ?  What  for  ?" 

Damie  gave  the  required  information. 


A   PEEP  AT  THtf  PAST.  65 

"  Well,  if  I  a'n't  sorry  I  Gone  to  York !  What  shall 
I  do  without  him  ?" 

"  You!"  said  Damie,  her  feeling  of  personal  loss  ag 
gravated  by  any  one  presuming  to  share  it.  "  What 
shall /do?" 

"  Why,  Damie,  I've  known  him  off  and  on  'most  as 
long  as  you  have,  and  a  pleasanter  lad,  boy,  and  man,  I 
never  see.  And  didn't  I  teach  him  to  use  a  gun,  when 
you  went  into  fits  about  the  powder  ?  No  more  danger 
in't  than  in  so  much  black  pepper,  if  folks  is  only  car'- 
ful ;  and  didn't  I  teach  him  to  bait  his  hook,,  and  show 
him  the  best  places  ?  And  didn't  he  come  every  day  to 
see  me  when  I  got  the  fever?  And  when  people  told 
him  'twas  catchin',  in  partic'lar  for  young  folks,  didn't 
he  say,  like  a  brave  boy,  he  couldn't  die  but  once,  and 
he  better  do  so  then,  than  to  desart  a  friend  in  distress  ? 
And  didn't  he  bring  me  nice  things  that  you  made  for 
me,  and  read  the  papers  for  me  ?  No,  don't  tell  me ! 
I  shall  miss,  him,  and  I  will  miss  him !" 

This  eulogy  of  her  favorite,  with  the  allusion  to  her 
own  kindness,  silenced  and  softened  Damie. 

"  Why  didn't  he  go  into  the  army,"  continued  Jed, 
"if  he  must  go  away?  That's  the  place  for  him.  They 
say  we're  agoin'  to  have  a  brush  with  the  French,  and 
he'd  be  a  major  gin'ral  in  no  time." 

"  Army  I  Don't  speak  of  it.  Killin'  and  slaughterin7 
folks !  He's  fit  for  somethin'  better,  I  guess." 

"  Come,  come,  Damie !  no  more  of  that.  Don't  go  for 
to  abuse  the  army.  I  wonder  where  you'd  all  be  now 
if  'twa'n't  for  the  '  old  Continentals'  and  the  rest.  And 
who  keeps  the  country  quiet  now  but  the  soldiers? 
Who  puts  down  whisky  boys,  and  Shaysites,  and  mobs, 
and  riots,  but  the  soldiers?  Killin'  and  slaughterin', 
indeed !  I  don't  like  that  better  than  you ;  but  if  my 
country  and  glory  says  so,  you  know — "  Then  putting 


66  WALTER  THORNLEY;    OR, 

on  a  tender  comical  air,  and  with  appropriate  gestures, 
he  burst  out  with 

"Adieu !  adieu  !  my  only  life, 
I  go  where  honor  calls  me ; 
Remember  thou'rt  a  soldier's  wife, 
Those  tears  but  ill  become  thee." 

"  Don't  be  a  fool,  Jed.  Be  quiet,  and  eat  your  break 
fast.  I  ha'n't  no  spirits  for  such  trash." 

"Damie,  my  dear,  you  must  do  as  we  soldiers  do. 
We  bury  a  comrade  to  the  tune  of  the  Dead  March ;  but, 
that  done,  we  come  back  in  double  quick  time.  You've 
done  all  you  could  for  the  lad,  and  now  he's  gone ;  but, 
instead  of  takin'  on,  you  must  cheer  up  for  what  re 
mains." 

"  That's  true,  Jed.  Shall  I  cook  you  another  rash 
er?" 

"  No,  thank  ye,  Damie ;  I've  had  a  royal  breakfast — 
'  a  dainty  dish  to  set  before  the  king !'  Now  to  busi 
ness.  You  don't  ask  me  nothin'  about  my  luck." 

"  No  more  I  haven't!  well,  how  was  it?" 

"Why,  the  circuit  was  better  than  common.  I've 
sold  pretty  nigh  every  thing,  all  but  one  shawl,  and  that 
I  had  a  notion  you'd  like.  See,  here  it  is." 

"  That  is  nice ;  but  no,  I  don't  want  it." 

"  Oh,  you  couldn't  have  this  partic'lar  one  if  you  did. 
This  is  promised;  but  if  so  be  you  liked  it,  I  know 
where  I  could  find  its  fellow  for  you." 

"  Promised !"  said  Damie,  with  another  glance  at 
what  now  seemed  to  have  acquired  a  new  value  in  her 
eyes.  "Who  to?" 

"A  very  pretty  young  woman  at  one  of  the  quality 
houses  on  the  river.  She  wouldn't  take  it  now  because 
she  hadn't  the  money ;  and,  though  I  offered  to  trust 
her,  she  said,  like  a  sensible  gal,  she'd  wait  till  I  come 
again,  and  so  here  it  goes  into  my  pack  for  her." 


A  PEEP  AT  THE  PAST.  67 

" That's  a  rale  nice  shawl,"  said  Damie,  "and if  'twasn't 
promised,  I  don't  know  but — " 

"  Let  me  throw  it  over  your  shoulders  just  to  see  if  it 
looks  as  well  on  you  as  it  did  on  her ;  for,  though  you 
can  not  have  this  one,  I  dare  say — I'm  'most  sartin' — 
that  I  can  get  one  like  it." 

Damie  submitted  to  have  the  shawl  put  on,  and  look 
ed  in  the  glass  approvingly. 

"  No ;  if  I  can't  have  this  I  won't  have  any.  I  have 
heard  that  story  often  enough.  There  an't  never  two 
things  jest  alike." 

"  Well,  Damie,  I  like  to  be  accommodating  you  know. 
It  may  be  six  months  afore  I  go  to  the  river  again,  and 
she  may  change  her  mind  by  then — women's  apt  to — 
and  I  didn't  promise  posi-tive-ly.  So,  as  you  like  it, 
Damie,  it  is  yours;"  and,  leaving  the  tempting  "  article" 
floating  about  her,  he  proceeded,  with  all  dispatch,  to 
close  his  pack,  while  she,  with  her  usual  promptness, 
produced  the  money.  As  she  handed  it  to  him,  she 
said,  "  I  raly  forgot,  Jed,  with  all  our  talk,  to  ask  about 
your  leg.  How  can  it  stand  such  long  tramps  all  over 
creation  ?  It  can't  trouble  you  any  more,  I  should  think." 

"  Oh,"  replied  he,  limping  badly  at  the  suggestion, 
"  don't  speak  of  it.  I  try  to  forget  it ;  for  you  know  I 
must  keep  movin' ;  besides,  a  fellow  that  has  stepped  to 
such  music  as  I  have,  hates  to  go  halting  about  like  a 
beggar.  No,  no,  Damie ;  my  poor  leg  will  never  be  bet 
ter  in  this  world,  and  my  pension  wouldn't  pay,  if 'twasn't 
for  the  thought  of  how  I  arn'd  it.  And  now,  good-morn- 
in',  Damie,"  and  he  was  off,  to  the  tune  and  words  of 

"I  left  the  lines  and  tented  field, 

Where  long  I'd  been  a  lodger ; 
My  humble  knapsack  all  my  wealth, 
A  poor  but  honest  soldier." 

"  Poor  /"  said  Damie,  as  she  looked  after  him.     "  Yes, 


68  WALTER  THORNLEY;  OR, 

that  lie  is,  and  honest,  too,  accordin'  to  his  notion ;  but 
that  is  like  his  eye,  '  rayther  squinty.'  There  he  goes, 
spry  as  a  cricket !  That  leg  of  his  has  'arnt  him  more 
than  his  whole  body  ever  did,  I  guess.  'Tis  a  queer  leg ! 
Sure  to  be  worse  if  any  body  thinks  it's  better ;  and  al 
ways  dreadful  bad  about  the  time  pensions  is  paid. 
Well,  'tis  sartin  he  was  wounded,  and  he  doesn't  a'ter  all 
get  more  than  he  desarves.  I  never  could  see  into  it, 
why  the  poor  fellows  that  gets  the  hardest  knocks  should 
have  the  smallest  share  of  the  profits.  Then  that  shawl ! 
how  he  talked  me  into  it !  Goodness  me !  I  don't  want 
it.  I  have  so  many  now,  I  shall  have  to  sit  up  nights  to 
wear  'em  out.  But  that's  Jed  all  over ;  he  can  twirl  any 
body  round  his  thumb ;  he  hasn't  got  that  twist  in  his 
eye  for  nothin'.  I  never  see  one  of  them  sort  that  wasn't 
downright  rogues,  or  else  as  'cute  as  Old  Nick !  howso 
ever,  Jed's  a  good-natur'd  fellow,  and  loves  to  do  every 
body  a  neighborly  turn,  and  he  does  set  by  Walter,  I 
know." 

"Damie,"  said  Mr.  Grafton,  as  she  entered  to  arrange 
the  parlor,  "  did  I  not  hear  a  man's  voice  in  the  kitchen?" 
"  Yes,  sir ;  Jed  has  come  back." 
"  Why  did  you  not  bring  him  in  to  see  me  ?" 
"  I  didn't  think  you'd  care  to  see  him  to-day,  sir." 
"  Why  not  ?     We  must  not  shut  out  our  neighbors 
because  we  are  less  happy  than  usual.     And  a  woman, 
too,  passed  the  window  with  a  basket,  who  was  she  ?" 
"  Oh,  that  was  that  shiftless  cre'ter,  Miss  Jenks." 
"  But  she  has  no  vice,  and  her  shiftlessness,  as  you 
call  it,  only  makes  her  more  pitiable.     You  gave  her 
something?" 

"  Be  sure,  sir.  You  will  always  have  me  give,  so  I 
filled  her  basket  with  one  thing  an'  other.  I  shouldn't 
mind  doin'  so,  but  she's  so  proud,  and  always  wanting  to 
pay." 


A   PEEP   AT   THE   PAST.  69 

1  'Perhaps  that  is  only  her  mode  of  expressing  her  re 
gret  at  being  burdensome." 

There  was  one  way  by  which  Mr.  Grafton  aggravated 
Damie:  seeking  to  excuse  those  she  considered  un 
worthy.  She  was  not  censorious  nor  harsh;  but  she 
did  not  comprehend 

"  That  where  ye  doubt,  the  truth  not  knowing, 
Believing  the  best,  good  may  be  growing. 
In  judging  the  best,  no  harm  at  the  least, 
In  judging  the  worst,  no  good  at  the  best." 

"No,  sir;  'tis  nothin'  but  downright  pride.  She  is 
willing  enough  to  beg,  not  a  bit  afraid  of  being  burden 
some.  She  pretends  to  buy  just  to  save  her  pride.  She 
has  always  some  way  of  fixin'  it ;  sometimes  she's  goin'  to 
bring  mops,  but  they  never  come ;  or,  if  they  do,  I  have 
to  give  two  prices  for  'em.  To-day,  'twas,  *  If  the  Lord 
is  willin',  I'll  bring  you  some  berries ;'  but  they'll  be  like 
the  mops,  I  guess.  I  fixed  her  well  enough  t'other  day. 
She  *  wonder'd  if  the  squire  hadn't  a  bedstead  he'd  sell 
her.'  '  Yes,  sartin,'  says  I.  '  How  much  would  he  ask?' 
So,  says  I,  '  six  dollars' — full  price,  you  know,  sir.  '  Oh 
dear,'  says  she,  '  I  can  get  one  for  that  at  the  shop.'  '  I 
dare  say, 'says  I;  'but  I  don't  see  why  we  should  sell 
under  price,  if  ours  is  full  as  good.'  " 

' '  Damie !  Damie ! ' '  said  Mr.  Grafton,  laughing.  ' '  You'll 
ruin  my  reputation.  Now  I  shall  be  obliged  to  give  Mrs. 
Jenks  a  bedstead  to  retrieve  my  character." 

"No,  you  sha'n't  do  no  such  thing,  sir.  Give  her  a 
bedstead,  indeed !  There's  better  people  than  she  to  be 
helped.  You  know  Sally  Crandell,  sir?" 

"  The  nice  young  woman  who  sews  here  occasionally? 
Yes;  what  of  her?" 

"She  is,  you  know,  sir,  an  orphan;  has  nothin',  and 
lives  with  her  aunt,  a  queer-tempered  cre'ter.  Well,  she 
has  a  son,  and  Sally  and  he  kept  company,  and  were  to 


70 

be  married  next  Thanksgivin'.  But  he  has  turned  out 
so  unsteady,  that  Sally,  though  she  feels  dreadful  about 
it,  has  changed  her  mind,  and  won't  marry  him.  And 
her  aunt  throws  all  the  blame  on  her;  says  that  her 
flirty  ways  has  made  him  so,  and  threatens  to  turn  her 
out  of  doors." 

"I'll  go  and  speak  to  her,  and  perhaps  I  can  bring 
her  to  reason." 

"Pray  do,  sir;  she  thinks  every  thing  of  you,  sir." 

"  And  if  I  fail,  Sally  can  come  here ;  we  can  give  her 
a  room,  can't  we,  Damie  ?" 

"Lord  bless  you,  sir,  yes.  There's  another  thing  I 
was  goin'  to  tell  you :  Kyders,  the  shoemaker,  is  carry- 
in'  on  as  bad  as  ever.  He's  drunk  pretty  much  all  the 
time,  and  his  wife  is  in  fear  of  her  life.  They've  just 
put  him  in  jail,  and  his  tools,  and  his  stock,  and  every 
thing  needful  for  his  trade  are  seized  for  debt.  His  wife 
wants  to  redeem  'em,  for  she  says,  when  he  comes  out  of 
jail,  and  finds  nothin'  to  work  with,  he  will  give  right 
up,  and  drink  himself  crazy,  and  perhaps  murder  'em 
all !  It's  a  dreadful  pity !  He  is  a  kind  man  when 
he  is  himself,  and  a  good  workman,  and  his  wife's  a 
rale  good  woman.  She  is  tryin'  to  get  up  a  subscrip 
tion  to  save  his  things.  It  will  take  thirty  dollars  or 
more.  I  was  a  thinkin',  sir.  that  perhaps  you  would 
give  somethin'  toward  it,  and  so  I  made  bold  to  speak." 

"  Quite  right,  Damie ;  I'll  see  about  it,"  and  he  took 
his  hat  and  walked  out. 

"  Now,"  said  Damie,  "  that  means  he'll  go  and  do  the 
whole  on't.  '  See  about  it,'  with  some  folks,  is  as  much 
as  to  say  'do  nothin' ;'  but  with  him  'tis  always  tanta 
mount  to  doin'  every  thing !  The  less  he  says,  the  more 
he  does.  Well,  the  best  way  to  lighten  our  own  hearts 
is  to  lift  the  load  off  other  people's.  That's  the  way 
he's  always  done.  And  so  now  I'll  go  and  do  what  / 
can  for  Mrs.  Kyders." 


A  PEEP  AT  THE   PAST.  71 


CHAPTER  VIII. 

AT  the  period  referred  to,  traveling  was  attended  by 
difficulties  little  understood  by  the  present  generation, 
for  whom  time  and  space  are  nearly  annihilated.  Postal 
communications  were  pretty  generally  established,  but 
few  stage-coach  routes  existed,  and  mails  were  trans 
ported  in  such  modes  as  were  convenient.  As  his  read 
iest  way,  Walter,  after  a  drive  of  some  five-and- twenty 
miles  of  bad  road,  consuming  the  greater  part  of  the  day, 
took  the  coach  from  Albany  to  New  York,  well  pleased 
to  be  en  route  for  the  Great  Metropolis — even  then  in  the 
ascendant  she  has  ever  since  maintained.  At  the  con 
clusion  of  the  fourth  day  he  was  dropped,  with  his  bag 
gage,  on  the  stone  steps  of  a  handsome  house  at  the 
lower  part  of  Broadway,  near  the  Bowling  Green. 

In  the  interval  since  the  city  had  been  relieved  from 
British  occupation — some  fifteen  years — it  had  risen  lit 
erally  like  a  phoenix.  The  great  fire  which,  while  they 
held  possession,  had  consumed  nearly  a  fourth  part  of  it, 
had  made  room  for  better  buildings  than  those  it  had 
displaced.  "  Canvas  Town,"  on  the  present  Whitehall 
Street,  so  called  from  the  tents  which  for  a  time  supplied 
the  place  of  the  habitations  destroyed  by  the  fire — the 
wretched  shelter  of  a  more  wretched  population — had,  in 
its  turn,  disappeared,  and  was  succeeded  by  good  and 
handsome  houses.  The  lower  part  of  Broadway  was 
now  the  especial  sphere  of  fashion.  Sidewalks  and 
lamps  had  been  given  to  it,  and  the  unsightly  gutter  in 
its  centre  no  longer  existed.  The  gardens,  too,  of  the 
patrician  families,  many  of  whom  had  formerly  a  "plai- 
sance"  on  the  Broadway,  though  their  residences  were  at 


72  WALTER  THORNLEY;  OR, 

the  western  end  of  Stone  Street,  then  an  aristocratic 
quarter,  were  now  covered  by  fine  houses.  The  fort 
and  its  sentinels,  once  the  representatives  of  royalty,  and 
holding  in  awe  the  subject  city,  had  surrendered  to  a 
republican  government-house  without  guards;  and  the 
Bowling  Green  in  front  of  it  was  relieved  of  the  king's 
statue.  On  the  site  of  old  Trinity  Church,  destroyed  by 
the  fire,  a  second  had  been  erected,  to  yield  in  time  to 
the  present  one,  far  exceeding  its  predecessors  in  size 
and  beauty. 

Broadway,  thus  renovated,  reposed  in  elegant  exemp 
tion  from  all  vulgar  occupation.  Private  equipages 
moved  along  its  clean  and  airy  length  unjostled  by  om 
nibuses.  Shops  had  not  yet  invaded  it,  except  at  what 
was  then  its  upper  end ;  and  the  few  carts  that  appeared 
seemed  rather  permitted  than,  as  now,  the  rightful  pos 
sessors.  The  side-walks,  clean  and  unobstructed,  were 
the  favorite  promenade  of  well-dressed  ladies,  who  now 
adventure  there  at  the  peril  not  only  of  silks  and  vel 
vets,  but  of  life  and  limb. 

Not  alone  in  Broadway,  but  throughout  the  city,  the 
change  was  apparent :  in  the  new  nomenclature  of  the 
streets,  the  absence  of  sentries  at  great  men's  doors,  the 
increased  activity,  the  evidences  of  wealth,  and  a  grow 
ing  commerce.  Manners,  too,  were  in  a  transition  state. 
Coffee-house  Bridge,  at  the  foot  of  Wall  Street,  where, 
before  the  war,  gentlemen  "used  most  to  congregate," 
was  no  more.  The  Saturday -night  club  at  Brock's  Tav 
ern,  with  tea,  politics,  and  oysters,  had  given  place  to 
other,  and  perhaps  less  justifiable  relaxations;  and  wa- 
ter-sockies — a  small  black-fish — were  no  longer  sought 
by  lawyers,  who  used  to  meet  in  summer,  a  little  out  of 
town,  for  the  purpose  of  thus  regaling  themselves. 

The  evening  had  closed  on  the  city,  and  Walter  could 
only  form  an  imperfect  idea  of  the  objects  immediately 


A  PEEP  AT  THE  PAST.  73 

surrounding  him,  and  of  that  which  naturally  chiefly 
struck  him — its  vastness. 

His  ring  at  the  door  was  answered  by  a  grave-looking 
colored  serving-man,  who,  on  being  told  his  name,  asked 
him  to  walk  in. 

"I  am  expected,  then,"  thought  he:  "so  much  the 
better ;  I  am  not  come  too  soon." 

He  was  ushered  into  a  room — which  he  soon  compre 
hended  to  be  the  library — furnished  with  heavy  mahog 
any  chairs,  high,  straight-backed,  and  black  with  age ; 
seats  covered  with  crimson  moreen,  and  window-curtains 
of  the  same  material,  raised  by  cords  and  pulleys  instead 
of  being  drawn  aside.  Bookcases  of  the  same  dark 
wood,  with  glass  doors,  rilled  the  recesses  of  the  room, 
and  a  Turkey  carpet  covered  the  floor.  On  the  centre 
of  the  mantle-piece  was  a  richly-cased  clock,  of  old-fash 
ioned  form,  bearing  on  its  silvered  dial  the  name  of  "Pea 
cock,  Eoyal  Exchange,  London,"  and  no  glass  or  china 
was  allowed  to  glitter  near  it.  Good  maps  were  hung 
wherever  space  admitted  of  them,  but  no  "  dbjet  d'art" 
relieved  the  grave  aspect  of  the  room,  evidently  furnish 
ed  according  to  the  taste  of  one  opposed  to  innovation. 
By  a  round  table,  very  dark,  and  whose  polished  sur 
face  reflected  the  lights  from  two  candles  in  tall,  mass 
ive  silver  candlesticks,  in  a  library-chair — the  only 
thing  in  the  room  in  which  ease  appeared  to  have  been 
consulted — was  seated  a  middle-aged  gentleman.  He 
was  reading,  but  he  laid  down  his  book  and  turned 
his  eyes  to  the  door  as  Walter  entered,  who,  to  cut 
short  all  uncertainty,  advanced,  and  presented  Mr.  Graf- 
ton's  letter,  the  superscription  of  which  announced  the 
bearer. 

"  Ah !"  said  Mr.  Meredith,  now  first  partly  rising  from 
his  chair,  and  coldly  motioning  to  another,  "  Mr.  Thorn- 
ley — be  seated,  sir." 

D 


74  WALTER  THORNLEY;    OR, 

Walter  obeyed,  and  Mr.  Meredith,  having  read  his  let 
ter,  folded  and  laid  it  down. 

"  You  left  Mr.  Grrafton  well,  I  hope." 

"Yes,  sir." 

"  Your  journey  has  not  been  very  fatiguing,  I  suppose. 
Hardy  habits  make  one  indifferent  to  such  things." 

Walter  bowed.  Three  days  and  two  nights  in  the 
mail-coach,  over  very  bad  roads,  was  not  pleasant,  but 
not  to  be  spoken  of. 

A  silence  ensued,  which  neither  seemed  to  care  to 
break.  Presently  the  clock  struck  the  hour  of  tea,  and 
Mr.  Meredith  rang  the  bell. 

A  tea-tray  was  brought  in,  rich  with  highly- wrought 
silver;  another,  on  which  were  the  only  edibles — bread 
and  butter,  in  slices  incredibly  thin,  on  a  china  plate, 
and,  on  another,  hard  waffles — well  termed  wafers. 
These  constituted  the  substantiate  of  the  meal,  which,  to 
our  hungry  young  traveler,  promised  rather  to  provoke 
than  to  satisfy  his  appetite.  Then  came 

uThe  bubbling  and  loud-hissing  urn, 
Throwing  up  a  steamy  column;" 

and  Mrs.  Meredith  entered — a  lady  somewhat  past  her 
prime,  but  still  comely,  with  "  gracious  womanhood  and 
gravitie,"  well  harmonizing  with  her  puce-colored  silk 
dress.  Her  handkerchief,  of  the  finest  India  muslin, 
was  disposed  over  her  bosom  in  what  was  called  "a 
craw" — a  style  that  obtained  for  the  wearers  the  sobri 
quet  of  the  "  Brest  (c'est  d  dire  breast)  Squadron" — from 
the  voluminous  expanse  of  which  peeped  a  a  modesty- 
piece."  She  wore  a  cap,  in  the  fashion  called  "  French 
night-cap,"  with  a  high  crown,  full  lace  border  descend 
ing  low  at  the  ears,  and  a  large  white  satin  bow  in  front ; 
a  thin  muslin  apron,  ornamented  with  tambour-work, 
and  black  lace  mitts  nearly  meeting  the  sleeve,  which 
terminated  at  the  elbow. 


A  PEEP  AT  THE   PAST.  75 

"Mrs.  Meredith,"  said  her  husband,  "here  is  Mr. 
Thornley,  whom  Mr.  Grafton  has  sent  to  us." 

"Walter  bowed,  in  deference  to  the  lady,  not  to  the 
manner  of  his  introduction.  She  courtesied  slightly, 
said  in  a  gentle  tone  she  was  happy  to  see  Mr.  Thorn- 
ley,  and  passed  to  the  ministration  of  the  tea-table. 

Just  in  the  shadow  of  Mrs.  Meredith,  like  a  little  satel- 
ite  in  attendance  on  its  primary,  was  a  young  girl, 

"As  faire  as  faire  mote  ever  bee," 
"And  in  the  flower  now  of  her  freshest  age," 

for  this  was  her  fifteenth  spring.  Had  a  passport  been 
made  out  for  her,  it  might  have  run  somewhat  in  this 
wise :  Face  oval ;  complexion  fair,  and  so  clear  that, 
with  every  emotion  that  stirred  the  young  blood,  it  man 
tled  in  her  cheek  to  the  richest  bloom.  Eyes  full,  and 
finely  set — hue  indescribable;  some  would  say  gray, 
some  hazel,  and  others  blue.  "Eyebrows  of  the  Graces." 
Eyelids  well  fringed.  Nose  not  classical,  but,  neverthe 
less,  a  very  proper  nose.  Mouth  perfect,  revealing  teeth 
far  superior  to  pearls — whatever  poets  may  say — and 
little  dimples  in  which  Love  and  Frolic  played. 

Her  soft,  wavy  brown  hair  was  turned  back  from  the 
fair  ingenuous  forehead  by  a  long  tortoise-shell  comb, 
and  fell  behind  nearly  to  the  waist.  Her  dress,  more 
simple  and  appropriate  than  that  of  an  infant  in  these 
days,  was  a  fine  Holland  (linen)  frock,  with  a  tight  and 
rather  a  long  waist,  buttoned  up  at  the  back.  The  skirt, 
full  and  plaited,  was  open  behind.  The  sleeves,  short 
and  looped  up,  showed  an  under  one  of  linen  cambric, 
turned  up  with  a  lace-edged  cuff;  the  same  trimming  at 
the  neck,  which  was  uncovered.  A  moderately  stiff 
stays  confined  the  waist ;  for,  though  the  steel  busk  and 
stiff  circular  front  were  now  generally  discarded,  Mrs. 
Meredith,  attached  to  old  customs,  and  accepting  her 
husband's  opinion  that  relaxation  in  dress  tended  to  the 


76  WALTER  THOKNLEY;  OK, 

increasing  and  alarming  relaxation  in  manners,  still  ad 
hered  to  the  stays  with  certain  mitigations ;  and  the  fine 
ly  developed  "bust  and  erect  person  of  her  daughter 
showed  that  she  had  received  no  injury  from  it.  A 
broad  sash,  with  long  streamers  behind,  differing  little 
but  in  name  from  the  rejected  "leading-strings  ;"  green 
morocco  shoes,  covering  little  feet,  in  nice  proportion 
with  a  very  pretty  pair  of  hands,  completed  the  young 
lady's  attire. 

"This,  Mr.  Thornley,"  said  Mr.  Meredith,  "is  my 
daughter,  Miss  Eleanor  Meredith." 

The  young  lady  courtesied ;  "Walter  returned  a  bow 
as  cold  and  distant  as  if  prescribed  by  her  father.  Had 
they  met  in  Ashton  under  the  same  circumstances,  he 
would  have  involuntarily  extended  his  hand  in  token 
of  the  friendly  relations  he  hoped  to  establish  between 
himself  and  his  pupil ;  but  he  readily  understood  that 
here  it  would  be  regarded  as  a  liberty,  and  he  was  per 
fectly  satisfied  to  omit  it. 

"If  the  face,"  thought  he,  "be  an  index  to  the  brain, 
I  shall  not  have  much  difficulty  as  a  teacher." 

The  tea  was  not  enlivened  by  many  words.  "When 
the  tray  was  removed,  Mrs.  Meredith  took  up  her  shut 
tle  and  busied  herself  with  knotting,  and  Eleanor  seated 
herself  by  her  with  her  filigree-work.  "  What  on  earth 
those  taper  fingers  were  about !  why  those  narrow  gold- 
edged  strips  of  paper  of  all  colors  were  thus  rolled  up, 
and  then  carefully  disposed  of,"  Walter  could  not  divine, 
and  the  knotting  too  was  equally  a  mystery,  unaccus 
tomed  as  he  was  to  the  elegant  trifles  with  which  city 
ladies  occupied  themselves. 

Mrs.  Meredith,  with  the  "  pleasant  ways  of  woman 
kind,"  made  some  attempts  at  conversation,  to  relieve 
what  she  thought  must  be  the  awkward  situation  of 
Walter;  but,  though  kind,  she  was  mistaken:  he  was 


A  PEEP  AT  THE  PAST.  77 

simply  tired,  and  soon  requested  permission  to  retire. 
He  was  accordingly  lighted  to  the  attic  by  the  servant 
who  had  admitted  him ;  and,  having  placed  his  candle 
on  a  table,  he  surveyed  the  room ;  then,  looking  from 
the  window  to  the  street,  which  seemed  immeasurably 
beneath  him,  he  thought,  "  Well,  I  am  nearer  the  sky 
than  I  have  ever  been  before,  I  believe,  so  I  may  be  said 
to  be  rising  in  the  world ;  but  I  am  mortally  hungry. 
Oh!  for  a  cold  cut  from  Damie's  buttery.  I  have  not 
gone  so  supperless  to  bed  since  I  was  a  'hop-o'-my- 
thumb'  under  her  discipline.  But  sleep  will  cure  all. 
Oh,  well  saith  Spenser : 

"  'Food  and  sleep,  which  two  upbcare, 

Like  mightie  pillars,  this  frayle  life  of  man, 
That  none  without  the  same  enduren  can. ' 

If  I  have  not  the  first,  I  am  sure  of  the  second." 


78  WALTER  THORNLEY;  OR, 


CHAPTER  IX. 

IN  the  morning  Walter  was  shown  into  the  dining- 
room,  where  he  perceived  more  decoration.  With  the 
same  generally  substantial  character  was  intermingled 
modern  taste,  showing  that  innovation  had  been  less 
sternly  resisted  in  the  female  department.  The  ma 
hogany  furniture  was  carved  instead  of  plain.  Chintz 
curtains  of  a  graceful  form  had  replaced  worsted  ones. 
The  walls  were  hung  with  a  handsome  French  paper, 
and  a  large  commodious  sofa  and  stuffed  arm-chairs  gave 
an  air  of  luxury  to  the  room.  On  the  mantle-piece  was 
a  French  clock,  where  the  flight  of  time  was  enlivened 
by  cupids.  But  this  concession  to  the  present  genera 
tion  was  indemnified  by  the  china  shepherds  and  shep 
herdesses,  the  admiration  of  the  preceding,  that  support 
ed  it  on  either  side ;  and  these,  again,  were  flanked  by 
lustres  of  recent  date.  A  large  mirror,  so  placed  as  to 
reflect  these  adornments,  was  richly  set  in  the  fantastic 
taste  of  the  Louis  Quatorze  period ;  but  the  thousand 
fanciful  trifles  that  fill  every  inch  of  space  in  the  present 
parlors  and  drawing-rooms  then  were  not. 

Walter  found  the  family  assembled.  A  few  moments 
intervened  before  breakfast,  during  which  Eleanor  read, 
or  appeared  to  read,  and,  having  nothing  else  to  do,  Wal 
ter  occupied  himself  in  looking  at  her.  She  seemed  to 
him  even  prettier  than  on  the  previous  evening,  in  her 
chintz  frock  of  many  colors,  her  vandyke  of  fine  cam 
bric,  and  apron  of  the  same ;  or  it  might  be  that,  having 
volunteered  a  u  good-morning,  Mr.  Thornley,"  as  he  en 
tered,  he  was  disposed  to  regard  her  more  favorably. 

The  breakfast  over,  and  Mr.  Meredith  having  read  his 


A  PEEP  AT  THE   PAST.  79 

papers,  lie  said,  "  I  am  going  to  my  office  now,  Mr.  Thorn- 
ley,  and,  as  you  may  like  to  look  a  little  about  you  be 
fore  commencing  your  regular  occupation,  we  will  say 
nothing  of  it  at  present.  If  I  am  not  otherwise  engaged 
this  afternoon,  I  purpose  to  have  some  preparatory  talk 
with  you  in  the  library." 

Walter  had  only  to  assent,  and  deferring  his  explora 
tion  of  the  city,  he  retired  to  his  room  to  write  to  Mr. 
Grafton. 

Two  o'clock  was  the  dinner-hour.  When  he  entered 
the  room  he  found  the  family  already  seated  at  table, 
and,  in  addition,  two  guests.  Mr.  Meredith  motioned  to 
Walter  to  take  a  chair  at  his  left  hand,  and  said,  "  This 
is  Mr.  Thornley,  gentlemen,  of  whom  I  spoke  to  you." 

Of  the  persons  so  addressed,  one  raised  his  eyes  with 
a  slight  inclination  of  the  head ;  the  other,  turning  to 
ward  him  a  face  from  which  a  laugh  had  not  quite 
passed,  gave  him  a  careless,  good-natured  nod,  and  pro 
ceeded  with  his  conversation.  But,  however  little  the 
notice  bestowed  on  Walter,  his  own  attention  was  at 
once  engaged  by  the  gentleman  last  mentioned.  In  age 
he  seemed  about  thirty -five ;  in  stature,  short  and  thick 
set.  The  lower  part  of  his  face  was  mirthful,  but  there 
was  power  in  his  well-developed  forehead,  and  quickness 
in  his  deep-set,  vivacious  gray  eyes.  An  observer  might 
have  safely  pronounced  him  as  acute  in  argument  as  in 
jest  irresistible,  while  the  negligent  enjouement  of  his 
air  showed  that  business  and  care  sat  lightly  on  him. 

They  were  both  lawyers,  and  the  conversation,  though 
chiefly  professional,  was  animated  and  agreeable.  Dull 
points  of  law  were  enforced  by  a  joke,  and  humorous 
anecdotes  confirmed  "grave  precedents,"  in  all  of  which 
the  gentleman  referred  to  excelled. 

The  dinner  was  so  bountiful  that  Walter  comprehend 
ed  the  scanty  city  tea.  At  the  proper  time,  one  gentle- 


80 

man  begged  to  take  wine  with  Mr.  Meredith,  and  the  one 
who  had  so  much  attracted  Walter  asked  the  same  favor 
of  Miss  Eleanor,  seated  next  to  him.  Mr.  Meredith  with 
out  speaking  filled  Walter's  glass,  as  he  would  have  done 
that  of  a  child  or  an  inferior ;  but  having  done  so  turned 
away  and  continued  to  converse  with  his  guests.  Wal 
ter  left  his  wine  untouched. 

The  gentleman,  after  talking  with  Eleanor,  seemed 
disposed  to  some  farther  acquaintance  with  her. 

"And  so,  young  lady,  you  are  learning  Latin,  math 
ematics,  and  of  course  the  whole  circle  of  sciences,  eh?" 

Eleanor  blushing  replied,  "  Only  a  little,  sir." 

"  Yery  well ;  the  less  the  better.  Let  me  give  you  a 
word  of  advice.  I  can  spare  it,  for  I  get  plenty  of  it." 

A  laugh  from  the  others  seemed  confirmatory. 

"  Don't  mind  them ;  they  are  laughing,  not  at  you,  but 
at  me.  Now  for  my  advice.  Don't  spoil  those  pretty 
eyes  by  hard  study,  for  one  of  these  days  some  very 
clever  fellow  will  rather  have  you  conjugate  for  him  in 
plain  English  the  verb  '  to  love,'  indicative  mode,  pres 
ent  tense,  first  person  singular,  than  that  you  should 
speak  all  the  dead  languages.  Besides — another  thing 
— you  like  to  dance  ?" 

"  Yes,  sir,"  said  Eleanor,  with  a  smile. 

"Ah!  I  thought  so;  but  you  can  never  dance  well 
in  '  blue  stockings' — no  lady  ever  did !  Take  care  of 
the  heels.  The  head — your  head,  certainly — will  take 
care  of  itself." 

"  Bad  advice !"  exclaimed  Mrs.  Meredith ;  "  very  bad 
advice,  sir !  You'll  spoil  my  daughter." 

"  My  dear  madam,  don't  you  perceive  that  I  am  act 
ing  on  the  defensive?  Young  ladies  will  be  treading 
on  our  heels  if  they  neglect  their  own.  In  fifty  years 
they'll  be  contending  for  the  right  to  vote,  for  seats  on 
the  bench,  and  professors'  chairs,  if  they  are  allowed  to 


A  PEEP  AT  THE  PAST.  81 

go  on.  "We  must  check  them,  or  we  men  shall  be  ex 
tinct — among  the  lost  races !  Latin  and  mathematics ! 
Why,  my  dear  madam,  'tis  a  repetition  of  the  '  original 
sin  !'  Knowledge  to  women !  'tis  the  forbidden  fruit. 
No,  no;  samples  and  receipt-books  forever!" 

Mrs.  Meredith  shook  her  head,  but  did  not  refuse  a 
smile. 

"  I  am  sorry  to  say,"  continued  the  gentleman,  "  what 
must  needs  shock  your  conjugal  reverence ;  but  your 
husband  is  the  most  inconsistent  man  I  know." 

"  Inconsistent !     I  can  not  think  it." 

"No,  I  dare  say  not;  but  I  can  prove  it.  No  man 
more  alarmed  than  he  at  the  progress  of  democracy, 
and  yet  he  puts  the  greatest  leveler  into  the  hands  least 
able  to  use  it  discreetly— knowledge  to  women.  Why, 
we  shall  beat  the  French.  Instead  of  one  goddess  of 
reason,  every  town  and  village  will  be  overrun  with 
them." 

Eleanor  listened,  but  not  with  an  undivided  attention. 
She  was  puzzling  herself  to  discover  what  the  gentleman 
could  mean  by  dancing  in  "blue  stockings!"  and  she 
cast  a  furtive  glance  at  Walter  as  she  "  wondered  if  Mr. 
Thornley  knew."  But  she  had  no  time  to  speculate 
on  his  countenance,  for  he  rose  at  the  moment  to  leave 
the  room,  saying  to  Mr.  Meredith,  "  I  will  attend  you  in 
the  library,  sir,  when  you  please  to  send  for  me." 

"Very  well,"  replied  Mr.  Meredith,  but  without  sug 
gesting  that  he  should  stay  longer. 

Expecting  a  summons,  Walter  remained  within,  in 
stead  of  taking  the  walk  he  had  promised  himself;  but 
he  received  no  call  till  the  hour  of  tea,  and  then  no  apol 
ogy  for  the  omission. 

The  same  formal  meal  succeeded,  after  which  Mr. 
Meredith  had  an  engagement,  and  Walter  was  left  with 
Mrs.  Meredith  and  her  daughter. 

D2 


82  WALTER  THORNLEY;  OK, 

In  a  voice  and  manner  rendering  commonplaces  agree 
able,  the  former  asked  him  what  he  had  seen  of  the  city. 

"Nothing,  madam;  I  have  not  been  out." 

"Indeed!     Why  not?" 

"  In  the  morning  I  was  occupied,  and  in  the  afternoon 
Mr.  Meredith  had  said  he  should  wish  to  speak  to  me." 

"  Ah !  I  am  sorry.     You  have,  then,  had  a  dull  day." 

Walter  could  not  deny  it. 

"  But  you  have  at  least  seen  two  of  our  principal  law 
yers,  and  I  thought  Mr.  Hoffman  impressed  you  agreea 
bly." 

"  I  was  not  aware  that  I  had  seen  him." 

"  Seen  him !     You  dined  with  him." 

"  I  did  not  know  it,  madam." 

"  Why,  you  were  introduced." 

Walter  smiled. 

" My  name  was  mentioned,  I  believe;  but  I  thought 
that  an  introduction,  to  be  such,  must  be  mutual." 

Mrs.  Meredith,  not  knowing  what  to  reply,  turned  the 
conversation;  and,  willing  to  be  complimentary,  said, 
"  A  country  life,  with  its  simple  habits,  has  its  advant 
ages.  I  observed  you  drank  no  wine." 

Again  Walter  smiled. 

"  I  am  not,  for  that  reason,  entitled  to  be  commended 
for  simplicity.  I  like  a  glass  of  wine  occasionally,  but  I 
never  took  a  solitary  one  in  my  life ;  its  chief  pleasure 
to  me  is  the  companionship  it  expresses." 

A  woman's  tact  seldom  fails  her.  Mrs.  Meredith's  did 
not,  and  she  resolved  on  a  secret  representation  to  her 
husband. 

Eleanor  meanwhile  was  silent,  but  her  eyes  often  turn 
ed  to  Walter,  and  as  often  as  he  smiled  she  smiled  too ; 
but  why  ?  Perhaps  she  could  not  have  told. 

It  must  not  be  inferred  that  Walter's  notice  of  these 
omissions  was  in  an  exacting  spirit.  Mr.  Grafton,  both 


A  PEEP  AT  THE   PAST.  83 

from  temper  and  education  an  observer  of  the  small 
charities  that  soften  life,  had  carefully  retained  them  in 
his  little  household,  where  Walter  was  accustomed  to 
see  their  visitors,  however  humble,  treated  with  atten 
tion,  and  had  thus  been  early  instructed  in  all  the  court 
esies  practicable  in  their  situation.  But  he  did  not  over 
rate  them.  Not  so  Mr.  Meredith ;  and  Walter  already 
comprehended  that  when  omitted  by  him  it  was  with  a 
meaning,  and  that  meaning  he  meant  to  resist 

The  next  morning,  after  breakfast,  Mr.  Meredith  re 
quested  to  see  him  in  the  library,  and  thither  they  went. 

The  course  of  study  for  Eleanor  having  been  marked 
out  by  her  father,  Walter,  in  the  main,  assented,  only 
begging  leave  to  differ  in  some  small  details.  Mr.  Mer 
edith  was  a  strenuous  advocate  for  the  technical  mode 
of  instruction ;  Walter,  though  he  would  not  object  to  a 
severe  drilling  for  a  youth  destined  to  a  profession,  ven 
tured  to  say  that  for  a  young  lady  he  should  prefer  a 
somewhat  different  method.  Taught  by  his  own  expe 
rience  under  the  instruction  of  Mr.  Grafton,  he  dwelt 
much  on  the  power  of  the  teacher,  not  merely  to  in 
struct,  but  to  enlarge  the  mind ;  not  alone  to  excite  the 
taste,  but  to  refine  it.  That,  omitting  sometimes  dry 
technicalities,  lest  he  should  disgust  his  pupil,  he  should 
endeavor  to  leave  no  beauty  in  sentiment  or  morals  un- 
perceived,  thus  leading  her  through  her  lessons  as  a 
means  to  that  which  was  higher. 

Mr.  Meredith  listened  with  attention.  He  was  not  de 
ficient  in  good  feeling,  but  the  changes  of  the  time  im 
pended  over  him  like  a  nightmare.  He  conceived  it  the 
duty  of  every  citizen  to  maintain  the  proper  subjection 
of  the  young  to  the  old,  and  the  due  subordination  that 
keeps  each  class  in  its  own  place.  Yet  he  was  not  un 
willing  to  acknowledge  merit,  and  to  admit  that  an  indi 
vidual  might  lawfully  emancipate  himself  from  restric- 


84 

tions,  nevertheless  wholesome  in  themselves.  He  began 
to  regard  Walter  from  a  new  point  of  view.  Deceived 
by  his  youthful  appearance,  he  had  set  him  down  as  a 
half-taught  country  lad,  who  might  possibly  be  made  of 
some  use  under  his  directions.  He  found  him  instruct 
ed  and  mature  beyond  his  years,  with  unembarrassed 
manner,  modest  and  unpresuming  in  the  expression  of 
his  views,  yet  maintaining  them  with  dignity.  He  was 
so  well  pleased  he  became  communicative.  "  He  had 
been  solicited,"  he  said,  "by  some  of  his  friends  to  ad 
mit  their  daughters  to  share  with  Eleanor  in  his  instruc 
tion.  But,"  continued  he,  "  it  would  never  do.  I  once 
did  try  the  experiment,  but  such  an  ungovernable  set 
you  never  saw !  They  nearly  drove  the  poor  man  dis 
tracted,  although  he  was  almost  twice  your  age.  You 
could  never  endure  it." 

"  Just  as  you  please,  sir.  I  should  not  fear  to  under 
take  it  on  my  own  account." 

"Why,  what  could  you  do  with  a  dozen  girls,  who 
could  not  be  flogged  like  so  many  boys?  Whose  pa 
rents  would  expect  them  to  be  treated  like  young  ladies, 
but  who  were,  in  fact,  ill-bred  romps." 

"  If  inaccessible  to  remonstrance  and  reproof,  I  would 
simply  dismiss  them  sine  die"  said  Walter,  laughing. 

"  No,  no,  'tis  better  as  it  is ;  and  as  I  approve  of  your 
ideas  as  far  as  you  have  explained  them,  you  will  pro 
ceed  to  carry  them  out  as  soon  as  you  please.  One  thing 
only  has  first  to  be  settled — I 'wish  you  to  be  satisfied  in 
all  respects — the  terms — " 

"  I  beg  your  pardon,  sir,"  said  Walter ;  "  I  understood 
there  was  to  be  a  period  of  trial.  I  prefer  to  wait  till 
the  expiration  of  that  before  my  remuneration  is  fixed." 

"  Trial !     Oh  ay,  yes ;  but  I  am  quite  satisfied  now." 

"I  regarded  the  provision  as  applicable  to  both  par 
ties,  sir." 


A  PEEP  AT  THE   PAST.  85 

"  How  ?     I  don't  understand  you." 

"You  are  so  good  as  to  say  that  you  are  satisfied. 
Perhaps  you  are  precipitate;  but  allow  me  to  say,  sir, 
that,  if  your  mind  is  made  up,  it  is  possible  that  mine  is 
not." 

Mr.  Meredith  looked  disappointed  and  perplexed. 

"  Permit  me,  sir,"  said  Walter,  "  to  be  frank  with  you. 
The  position  is  a  new  one  to  me.  I  can  not  exact  treat 
ment  from  you  differing  from  that  which  you  may  deem 
proper.  But,  if  our  views  in  this  respect  do  not  agree, 
I  must  do  as  I  have  said  that  I  should  request  the  young 
ladies  to  do — take  my  dismissal.  A  month  will  proba 
bly  settle  our  respective  relations.  Until  that  shall  have 
passed  we  will,  if  you  please,  sir,  say  nothing  of  terms." 

Mr.  Meredith  was  beginning  to  understand  him. 

"Your  hand,  Mr.  Thornley !"  said  he,  with  a  hearti 
ness  Walter  did  not  think  in  his  nature.  "I  respect 
your  frankness  and  manliness  as  much  as  I  do  your  at 
tainments.  It  shall  not  be  my  fault  if  we  disagree." 

The  two  previous  evenings  Walter  had  been  allowed 
to  retire  at  an  early  hour,  with  no  suggestion  to  the  con 
trary.  This  evening,  however,  when  about  doing  so, 
Mr.  Meredith  said,  "  Stay  and  take  a  little  supper  with 
us,  Mr.  Thornley.  It  is  a  very  light  one,  and  usually 
restricted  to  my  family ;  but  if  you  will  partake  of  it,  it 
will  give  me  pleasure." 

Thus  invited,  Walter  did  not  refuse.  The  time  pass 
ed  cheerfully.  Mr.  Meredith  unbent ;  and,  condescend 
ing  to  talk  to  Walter  on  general  topics,  he  was  surprised 
into  an  interest  so  unusual  with  him,  that  when  sepa 
rating  for  the  night  he  requested  that  "  whenever  agree 
able  to  himself  he  would  favor  them  in  the  same  way." 

The  next  morning  Walter  was  shown  into  the  library, 
where,  in  a  few  moments,  Miss  Eleanor  entered  to  re 
ceive  her  first  lesson,  or,  rather,  to  undergo  a  prelim- 


86  WALTER  THORNLEY;  OR, 

inary  examination,  in  order  to  decide  the  course  to  be 
pursued.  He  found,  as  he  had  been  given  to  expect, 
that  her  instruction  had  been  but  superficial,  as  was,  in 
deed,  at  the  time,  the  fact  with  regard  to  female  educa 
tion  generally.  Geography  and  history  without  maps 
or  chronology;  grammar  by  rote;  arithmetic  to  the 
"rule  of  three" — examples  set  down  in  the  books,  and 
the  answers  obtained  from  the  same — as  Mrs.  Malaprop 
would  say,  "a  supercilious  knowledge  of  accounts;" 
reading  conducted  in  a  similar  manner,  each  girl  in  the 
class  taking  the  page  or  paragraph  which  fell  to  her 
share,  without  heeding  that  which  preceded  or  followed. 
Any  thing  like  hard  study,  with  few  exceptions,  was 
unthought  of.  Girls  were  not  allowed,  to  use  the  lan 
guage  of  the  above  quoted  lady,  to  "  meddle  with  Greek, 
or  Hebrew,  or  Algebra,  or  Simony,  or  Fluxions,  or  Par 
adoxes,  or  such  inflammatory  branches  of  learning." 

The  case  with  Eleanor  was  rather  better,  inasmuch  as 
her  father  had  insisted  on  Latin ;  but  her  most  thorough 
attainment  was  in  French.  Among  the  unfortunate 
emigres,  excellent  teachers  were  found;  and,  with  her 
nice  ear  and  natural  facility,  she  had  made  quite  a  re 
spectable  progress  in  it.  To  this  might  be  added  music, 
not,  indeed, 

"The  fine  sleights  of  hand 
And  unimagin'd  fingerings,  shuffling  off 
The  hearer's  soul  thro'  hurricanes  of  notes." 

As  a  science  she  had  no  claim  to  it.  Of  "harmony" 
she  knew  little ;  but  in  "  melody,"  well  called  "  the  Poe 
try  of  Music,"  her  sweet  rich  voice,  her  musical  instinct, 
her  delicate  touch,  all  natural  adaptations,  did  more  for 
her  than  her  teacher.  Drawing,  including  coloring,  she 
had  learned  like  others.  This  chiefly  consisted  of  me 
chanical  rules  by  which  ever- varying  nature  was  pre 
sumed  to  be  expressed.  The  same  forms  for  the  clouds, 


A  PEEP  AT  THE   PAST.  87 

the  same  straight  lines  to  indicate  water,  the  same  tin- 
changing  tints  for  the  sky,  the  same  touch  to  express 
every  variety  of  tree.  Flowers  as  unlike  nature  as  if 
some  Egyptian  hierophant  had  prescribed  a  sacred  and 
inviolable  form;  while  perspective  was  still  nearly  an 
occult  science. 

Almost  the  only  thing  really  well  taught  was  danc 
ing,  and  here  the  teacher,  generally  French,  could  hard 
ly  fail.  Heads  unencumbered  with  learning,  spirits  un 
checked  by  study,  health  unimpaired  by  late  hours,  hot 
rooms,  and  stimulants,  were  admirable  assistants.  And 
it  must  be  conceded  by  the  present  generation  that  their 
grandmothers,  without  any  of  the  'ologies,'  excelled  them 
in  the  adaptation  of  motion  to  music,  in  the  true  ex 
pression  of  youthful  enjoyment.  As  they  moved  through 
the  sprightly  "  contra  -danse"  and  changeful  cotillon, 
groups  would  gather  round  them  to  admire  their  flying 
feet,  their  graceful  evolutions,  their  steps  conformed  to 
every  varying  note,  their  kindling  cheeks,  their  spark 
ling  eyes.  There  was  no  voluptuous  waltz,  no  romping 
polka,  no  stamping  mazurka,  no  "walking  through  the 
figure."  Dancing  was  neither  a  rage  nor  a  pretense ;  it 
was  an  earnest  and  natural  pleasure,  in  which  also  young 
men,  now  too  busy  or  too  indolent  to  enter  into  it  heart 
ily,  then  partook  without  the  fear  of  being  regarded  as 
idlers,  or  as  dancing-masters,  if  they  executed  an  "  entre 
chat"  or  "cut  a  pigeon-wing."  But  to  return  to  Walter 
and  Eleanor. 

Having  prepared  the  way,  and  prescribed  the  first  les 
son,  he  released  her,  he  with  an  impression  in  favor  of 
her  natural  capacity  and  good  temper,  she  with  a  senti 
ment  half  fear,  half  liking — something  she  could  not 
well  define,  but  entirely  different  from  what  Mr.  A.  or 
Mr.  B.  had  inspired. 

And  now,  having  inducted  Walter  into  his  new  posi- 


88 

tion,  and  seen  him  through  the  small  obstructions  which 
threatened  to  render  it  irksome,  he  may  be  left  to  main 
tain  it  as  he  can.  And,  as  it  is  not  intended  to  give  a 
treatise  on  education,  nor  to  enter  into  the  details  of  his 
teaching  farther  than  the  story  requires,  he  and  his  pu 
pil  shall  be  left  to  their  "kies,"  their  "kaes,"  and  their 
"  cods,"  without  much  present  observation. 

The  first  of  July  came ;  and,  though  Mr.  Meredith 
brought  inviting  accounts  of  the  beauty  of  their  coun 
try  residence,  the  family  were  content  to  remain  in  the 
city  till  after  the  national  festival  of  the  "Fourth." 
That  anniversary  was  then  celebrated  not  only  with 
noisy  demonstrations,  but  with  a  pleasure  that  pervaded 
every  class.  The  rich,  the  refined,  the  fashionable,  and 
the  self-indulgent  did  not  then  turn  their  backs  upon 
it,  seeking  a  retreat  where  their  trembling  nerves  might 
be  safe  from  its  patriotic  explosions,  leaving  the  honors 
of  the  day  to  be  paid  by  vulgar,  and  often  by  ruffianly 
excess. 

On  the  occasion  referred  to  the  day  was  hailed  with 
even  more  than  ordinary  interest.  The  general  indig 
nation  at  foreign  aggression  held  in  check  the  angry 
feelings  of  opposing  parties.  A  more  hearty  nationality 
prevailed,  and  religious  services  and  an  appropriate  ora 
tion  enforced  its  proper  observance.  As  the  accustomed 
procession  passed  through  Broadway,  from  every  door 
and  window  it  was  greeted.  Gentle  and  simple,  young 
and  old,  followed  with  eager  gaze  and  thrilling  hearts 
the  long  lines  that,  with  various  insignia,  civil,  military, 
and  municipal,  proceeded  through  the  street  to  martial 
and  patriotic  airs.  Demonstrations  of  respect  were  made 
before  the  residences  of  official  persons ;  in  answer  to 
which  gray  heads  bowed,  and  fair  young  faces  smiled — 
hands  were  kissed,  and  handkerchiefs  waved.  Pulses 
beat  quick  at  the  sight  of  the  old  Continental  uniform ! 


A  PEEP  AT  THE   PAST.  89 

which,  not  then  a  mere  pageant,  expressed  a  reality  felt 
and  understood ;  and  the  New  York  Eangers,  with  oth 
ers  of  the  new  levies — among  them  sons  of  the  best  fam 
ilies — showed  that  the  spirit  of  their  sires  was  not  extinct. 

The  rejoicings  were  prolonged  into  the  decline  of  the 
day  by  a  gay  and  very  general  assemblage  on  the  Bat 
tery,  then  the  favorite  promenade.  There  Mr.  Meredith, 
accompanied  by  Walter,  conducted  Mrs.  Meredith  and 
Eleanor.  The  latter,  attired  for  the  occasion  in  a  new 
chip  gipsy,  tied  with  blue  ribbons,  and  a  white  dimity 
cardinal  trimmed  with  fringe,  tripped  along  so  gayly  as 
to  receive  a  rebuke  from  her  father.  But  her  spirits 
were  up.  The  crowd,  the  music,  the  general  exhilara 
tion  were  intoxicating ;  besides,  she  had  recited  a  good 
lesson,  and  Mr.  Thornley  had  commended  her :  a  rare 
occurrence. 

Nature,  amid  all  changes,  ever  the  same,  unaffected 
by  the  mutations  of  men,  was  just  as  beautiful,  and  not 
more  so,  than  now.  A  gorgeous  sunset  was  shedding 
its  light  over  the  city  and  bay,  tinting  every  jutting 
headland  and  island,  and  casting  across  the  waters  a 
broad  gleam  like  molten  gold.  As  the  greater  glory 
departed,  the  lesser  replaced  it, 

"The  heavens  unfolding  all  their  gates 
To  let  the  stars  out  slowly." 

But  among  all  this  natural  beauty  human  interests 
prevailed.  Fireworks  presumed  to  scale  the  empyrean ; 
and  illuminations,  in  characters  of  flame,  repeated  the 
sentiment,  originating  in  the  exigencies  of  the  time, 
"  Millions  for  defense !  not  a  cent  for  tribute  I" 

They  met  troops  of  well-dressed  people  and  happy 
children;  and  many  salutations  were  exchanged.  Among 
others,  a  gentleman  accosted  them,  who,  giving  his  hand 
to  Mr.  Meredith,  raised  his  hat  and  remained  uncovered 
while  he  courteously  conversed  with  his  wife.  The  op- 


90  WALTER  THORNLEY;  OR, 

portimity  thus  afforded  was  not  lost.  His  finely-formed 
head,  his  massy  brow,  his  eyes,  not  effective  in  color  or 
size,  but  brilliant  in  expression,  his  well-cut  profile,  the 
genial  smile  that  graced  a  mouth  the  fit  instrument  of 
truth — strong  and  beautiful ! — the  whole  countenance 
informed  by  thought,  so  impressed  Walter  that  he  failed 
to  observe  that  "  his  bodily  presence"  was  unimposing, 
small  even  to  diminutiveness.  He  felt  only  his  superi 
ority. 

The  gentleman  bowed  and  passed,  and  Mr.  Meredith 
said,  with  a  proud,  complacent  smile,  "  That  is  General 
Hamilton;  at  this  juncture  no  man  more  important  to 
the  Kepublic — his  sword  as  convincing  as  his  pen !" 

Alas !  little  did  the  speaker  foresee  the  near  extinction 
of  the  life  he  so  estimated !  a  sacrifice  to  malignant  ri 
valry,  and  a  mistaken  sense  of  duty. 

In  their  progress,  approaching  one  of  the  gates,  Wal 
ter  observed  a  phaeton  and  pair  drawn  up  in  the  street 
without,  in  attendance  on  a  gentleman,  who  delayed  to 
enter  that  he  might  address  some  parting  words  to  per 
sons  near  him.  He  was  one  to  fix  attention.  He  held 
his  hat  under  his  arm,  as  if  such  were  his  custom  in 
walking.  His  head  and  face,  thus  seen  to  greater  ad 
vantage,  were  striking  and  handsome.  An  air  of  com 
mand  increased  the  effect  of  his  tall  stature,  and  his  whole 
appearance  indicated  a  consciousness  of  power,  which, 
nevertheless,  did  not  offend,  because  it  was  felt  to  be 
based  on  rare  endowments  both  of  mind  and  body. 

Walter  was  about  to  ask  his  name,  when  he  perceived, 
as  the  gentleman  ascended  his  carriage,  that  he  had  lost 
a  leg. 

"  Ah !"  said  he,  "  Mr.  Morris  ?     Is  it  not  ?" 

"Yes;  our  minister  to  France.  But,"  in  a  tone  of 
surprise,  "how  should  you  know  him?" 

"  Great  names,"  replied  Walter,  "penetrate  the  dark- 


A  PEEP  AT  THE   PAST.  91 

est  places.  The  stars,  you  know,  sir,  may  be  seen  from 
the  bottom  of  a  well." 

Again  and  again  they  went  the  usual  round  till  Mr. 
Meredith  suggested  that  they  should  conclude  the  even 
ing  at  Contoit's.  Directing  their  steps,  therefore,  to  that 
part  of  State  Street  parallel  with  one  side  of  the  Battery, 
they  entered  beneath  an  archway,  on  which  was  in 
scribed  "  Columbia  Gardens,"  where  a  parterre  of  grass 
and  flowers,  surrounded  by  small  alcoves,  presented  it 
self.  It  was  lighted,  and  on  a  stage  elevated:  above  the 
general  level  was  an  orchestra,  and  musicians  were  pre 
luding  the  evening  performance. 

Mr.  Meredith  having  selected  an  alcove,  an  attendant 
appeared  with  ices,  and  a  programme  of  the  music  for  the 
occasion.  After  a  short  interval  of  expectation,  the  en 
tertainment  commenced  by  "Hail  Columbia!"  then  in 
the  zenith  of  its  favor.  To  this  succeeded  an  "  over 
ture,"  followed  by  singers,  male  and  female ;  and,  among 
other  patriotic  songs,  "America,  Commerce,  and  Free 
dom"  was  received  with  a  burst  of  applause.  At  length, 
the  chief  attraction,  the  prima  donna  of  the  evening,  the 
celebrated  Mrs.  Oldmixon,  made  her  appearance.  The 
power  of  her  voice  there  was  no  denying,  nor  the  skill 
with  which  it  was  managed ;  but  such  were  the  contor 
tions  of  a  face  to  which  Nature  had  been  singularly  un 
kind,  that  Walter  turned  away  in  a  sort  of  horror,  for 
which  her  songs,  though  the  most  admired  of  the  day, 
including  the  favorite  "  Gipsy's  song,"  were  no  compen 
sation.  He  had  not  learned  that  "  the  nearer  the  singer 
can  arrive  at  a  gasp,  a  sob,  or  a  scream,  the  more  success 
fully  the  voice  is  treated." 

When  Mrs.  Oldmixon  had  been  encored  and  applaud 
ed  till  Walter  was  wearied,  Eleanor  asked  him  how  he 
was  pleased. 

"  I  must  not  tell  untruths  to  you  of  all  persons,"  said 


92 

lie.  "Well,  then,  I  do  not  like  such  music  at  all.  1 
dare  say  because  I  am  too  ignorant  to  enjoy  it.  I  had 
infinitely  rather  hear  you  sing." 

"  Oh,  Mr.  Thornley !"  exclaimed  she,  much  pleased. 
But  Walter,  unconscious  of  having  excited  emotion  by 
the  expression  of  a  simple  fact,  understood  the  excla 
mation  as  a  remonstrance  against  his  bad  taste,  and  re 
flected,  "  How  strange,  that  a  creature  so  inartificial  her 
self  could  enjoy  any  thing  so  perverted !" 

"  I  see  you  think  me  a  barbarian,"  said  he ;  "  but  I 
must,  nevertheless,  say,  that  a  fine,  full  voice  exaggerated 
to  a  shriek,  all  sweetness  and  expression  tortured  out  of 
it,  gives  me  only  pain." 

Eleanor  said  nothing,  but  she  did  not  think  him  "a 
barbarian"  by  any  means. 

The  next  day  Walter  was  introduced  to  a  home  more 
congenial  to  his  habits  than  his  city  residence  had  been. 

The  "  Oaks,"  the  country  house  of  Mr.  Meredith,  was 
well  adapted  to  comfort;  plain  and  substantial,  simply 
furnished,  pleasantly  situated  in  that  part  of  Bloemen- 
dal  nearest  the  North  Eiver,  and  surrounded  by  grounds 
under  good  cultivation.  Walter  fancied  that  there  was, 
too,  an  air  of  greater  freedom,  something  like  what  he 
had  been  accustomed  to  breathe.  People  did  not  walk 
with  steps  as  noiseless,  and  doors  were  not  always  closed 
without  ajar.  Instead  of  the  heavy  carved  mahogany 
chairs,  imposing  such  responsibilities  on  the  occupant, 
were  "  cottage"  chairs — as  those  of  the  late  fashion  were 
called — the  feet  of  which,  if  they  did  not  always  stand 
on  the  same  plane,  it  did  not  appear  so  great  a  breach 
of  propriety.  A  large  hall  occupied  the  centre  of  the 
house,  into  which  opened  dining-room,  drawing-room, 
library,  and  a  room  denominated  "  the  study,"  because 
there  Eleanor  had  received  the  masters  who  had  given 
her  private  lessons.  This  communicated  by  a  glass  door 


A  PEEP  AT  THE  PAST.  \)3 

at  the  south  with  a  piazza  running  round  three  sides  of 
the  house,  to  which  a  long  window  on  the  western  side 
also  furnished  access.  From  the  piazza  a  descent  of  a 
few  steps  led  into  a  garden,  the  especial  delight  of  Mr. 
Meredith ;  who,  far  in  advance  of  his  neighbors  in  hor 
ticulture,  imported  many  of  his  plants  from  England  and 
Holland.  Shrubberies,  ornamental  trees,  and  shaded 
walks  well  disposed,  increased  its  apparent  size ;  and  a 
fine  wood,  chiefly  of  oak,  gave  it,  though  so  near  the 
city,  an  air  of  privacy  and  repose. 

The  study,  thus  agreeably  situated,  was  furnished  with 
books,  maps,  globes,  and  whatever  could  justify  its  ap 
pellation  ;  and  here  Eleanor  had  collected  what  she  re 
garded  as  her  peculiar  property.  Albeit  no  student,  it 
was  her  favorite  room ;  for  here  were  her  canary  birds, 
and  her  gold  and  silver  fish ;  a  little  cabinet  covered 
with  tortoise-shell,  a  writing-desk  of  Japan  workman 
ship,  and  a  Chinese  pagoda  made  of  rice,  but  looking 
like  exquisitely-carved  ivory.  Here,  also,  was  a  wonder 
ful  nest  of  balls  of  the  same  material,  the  admiration  of 
eyes  not  then  accustomed  to  the  innumerable  bijoux 
since  introduced.  Here  were,  in  short,  all  those  articles 
of  taste  that  then  constituted  the  staple  of  Christmas  and 
JSTew  Year  gifts. 

Into  this  room,  destined  to  be  henceforth  what  its 
name  imported,  Walter  was  introduced;  Eleanor  gra 
ciously  inviting  him  to  use  it  whenever  he  pleased,  a  per 
mission  which  its  aspect  inclined  him  to  profit  by.  The 
next  day  lessons  were  resumed ;  the  door  communicat 
ing  with  the  hall  always  open,  and  Mrs.  Meredith  and 
her  work-basket  always  near  it.  Having  a  conjugal 
respect  for  her  husband's  opinions,  she  was  ready  to 
enforce  them,  particularly  when,  as  in  the  present  in 
stance,  her  own  experience  tended  to  confirm  them. 
The  recollection  of  "manners  taught  by  Mrs.  Stakes," 


94  WALTER  THORNLEY;    OR, 

"  wax- work  and  shell-work  by  Madam  Koger,"  and  a 
smattering  of  bad  French  by  Mdmslle.  Blanch  Beault — 
the  lights  of  her  time — enabled  her  rightly  to  estimate  the 
better  instruction  now  offered  to  her  daughter.  Yet  she 
had  a  grateful  remembrance  of  Mr.  Leslie,  one  of  the  few 
good  teachers  of  her  time — so  honest  as  to  send  home  a 
pupil,  because,  as  he  said,  u  she  had  learned  all  he  could 
teach ;"  and  so  charitable  that  out  of  his  small  earnings 
he  paid  a  master  to  instruct  the  children  of  the  poor. 


A  PEEP  AT  THE   PAST.  95 


CHAPTER  X. 

THE  month  of  probation  had  passed ;  all  parties  were 
satisfied ;  Walter's  remuneration  was  settled  in  the  most 
liberal  manner,  and  things  remained  as  they  were.  But 
he  was  still  learning  to  fit  himself  to  his  position.  It 
was  plain  that  his  standing  in  the  family  was  quite  dif 
ferent  from  what  it  had  been.  Instead  of  a  tolerated 
member,  he  was  now  regarded  with  a  certain  degree  of 
complacency;  and  since  their  removal  to  the  country 
his  companionship  had  seemed  even  desirable.  But  still 
he  felt  that  his  place  was  "below  the  salt" — a  situation 
in  which  some  persons  would  have  secured  the  advan 
tages  by  quietly  submitting  to  its  exactions.  This  did 
not  suit  his  humor.  With  one  of  the  best  of  tempers, 
and  having  a  real  happiness  in  obliging,  he  resolved  not 
to  be  the  easy,  good-natured  young  man,  always  ready 
for  a  vacant  place,  to  entertain  a  bore,  to  walk  or  drive, 
as  a  whim  might  dictate ;  or  to  execute  commissions 
properly  belonging  to  one  just  hovering  between  a  de 
pendent  and  a  domestic.  Perhaps  he  was  proud ;  but 
pride,  which  in  excess  is  a  vice,  may  sometimes  be  a  safe 
guard.  At  any  rate,  he  was  consistent,  and  that,  for  its 
rarity,  is  commendable.  If  invited  to  remain  after  din 
ner  or  tea,  exercise,  books,  or  writing  was  an  excuse ;  if 
a  drive  was  suggested,  he  quietly  preferred  a  walk ;  if  a 
visit  were  proposed,  he  was  always  happy  at  home ;  by 
his  self-dependence  thus  securing  his  independence.  In 
a  little  time  it  became  a  circumstance  to  secure  Mr.  Thorn- 
ley's  society ;  and,  somehow,  neither  Mr.  nor  Mrs.  Mere 
dith  would  any  more  have  thought  of  making  demands 
on  his  time  for  their  own  convenience  than  on  that  of  any 


96  WALTER  THORNLEY;    OR, 

other  young  gentleman  with  whom  they  were  on  terms 
of  equal  familiarity.  Thus  much  obtained,  Walter  glad 
ly  relaxed  his  self-imposed  restrictions. 

Meanwhile  he  had  not  been  unmindful  of  the  small 
things  which  go  toward  making  the  whole  man.  Train 
ed  by  Mr.  Grafton  in  an  observance  of  proprieties  which 
he  had  never  laid  aside  himself,  "Walter,  as  soon  as  as 
sured  of  his  ability  to  attain  his  own  support,  had  sub 
mitted  himself  to  the  hands  of  those  persons  who  under 
take  to  improve  God's  workmanship  by  the  cut  of  their 
clothes  and  the  trim  of  their  hair. 

The  fashions  for  gentlemen,  like  other  things,  were 
revolutionized.  Fine  cloths  had  nearly  banished  vel 
vets,  cut  and  uncut.  Waistcoats  of  silk  shot  with  gold 
or  heavy  with  embroidery,  scarlet  stockings  worked  with 
gold,  point -lace  ruffles  and  creepers,  diamond  stock- 
buckles,  solitaires,  bags,  and  gold  snuff-boxes,  and  all  the 
elaborate  toilet  of  the  preceding  generation  had  disap 
peared.  Wigs  were  on  the  decline,  and  powder  was  dis 
carded  except  by  elderly  persons,  who  disdained  to  sub 
mit  their  heads  to  the  sansculotteism  of  a  crop,  and  who 
retained  it,  together  with  their  cambric  chitterlings  and 
ruffles,  to  testify  that  gentlemen  were  still  extant. 

A  subject  of  much  more  anxiety  to  Walter  than  his 
own  standing  was  his  pupil.  If  dissatisfied,  he  could 
go;  that  was  a  matter  soon  settled.  But  he  could  not 
so  easily  dispose  of  the  question,  "  Was  he  of  any  use  to 
her,  or  was  he  likely  to  be  so  ?" 

With  good  natural  powers,  a  sweet,  ingenuous,  play 
ful  temper,  quick  sensibility,  and  a  confiding  heart,  she 
had  no  taste  for  study,  no  value  for  knowledge.  This, 
he  was  aware,  was  greatly  the  fault  of  the  parrotry  in 
which  she  had  been  allowed  to  proceed ;  but  might  he 
hope  to  effect  the  change  that  was  necessary  ?  Thus  far 
he  could  not  flatter  himself  that  he  had  secured  any 


A  PEEP  AT  THE   PAST.  97 

thing  but  obedience  and  personal  good-will.  He  would, 
indeed,  most  unwillingly  have  left  a  creature  of  such  fine 
impulses  to  instruction  which,  however  imperfect  his 
own  attempts,  was  very  unlikely  to  succeed  better.  She 
could  not  but  inspire  a  strong  interest  where  known  fa 
miliarly.  A  system  of  parental  restraint,  to  which  her 
young  companions  were  not  generally  subjected,  would 
have  engendered  in  some  minds  rebellion  or  deceit. 
She  was  too  affectionate  for  the  former,  too  fearless  for 
the  latter — submissive  to  authority,  yet  enjoying  with 
an  excess  of  glee  her  occasional  liberty ;  and,  like  a  bird 
who,  released  for  a  while  from  its  cage,  returns  without 
resistance,  she  resumed  her  chain  with  as  pleasant  a  face 
as  she  laid  it  down.  A  child  in  ignorance,  she  was 
equally  so  in  innocence  and  unconsciousness. 

One  morning  soon  after  their  removal  to  the  country, 
as  she  seated  herself  at  her  desk  in  preparation  for  the 
recitation,  she  exclaimed,  "  Oh,  how  delighted  I  am  to 
get  back  to  my  study !" 

"  Which  of  them  ?     Latin,  Philosophy,  History,  or—" 

"Oh,  Mr.  Thornley !"  replied  she,  with  a  significant 
smile,  and  well  understanding  his  look,  "You  know 
what  I  mean — my  dear  old  room,  with  all  my  pet  things 
about  me!" 

"  Including  your  books,  of  course.'r 

"  Books !  Yes,  some  books.  Arabian  Nights,  for  in 
stance  ;  some  poetry,  and  a  few  novels — not  musty  old 
dictionaries  and  grammars." 

"Your  catalogue  is  rather  small,  Miss  Eleanor;  it 
would  but  scantily  furnish  a  young  lady's  head." 

"  Oh,  I  know  that  you,  Mr.  Thornley,  would  add  fol 
ios  of  history,  and  Heaven  knows  what !  more  than  my 
poor  little  head  could  contain." 

"You  have  never  tested  its  capacity,"  said  Walter, 
willing  to  indulge  her  desire  to  defer  the  more  serious 

E 


98  WALTER  THORNLEY;  OR, 

business  of  the  lessons,  in  hopes  of  insinuating  one  in  a 
less  repulsive  form. 

"  Why,  do  you  really  believe  I  can  ever  learn  all  the 
things  that  you  and  papa  say  I  must  ?  and  if  I  could, 
what  is  the  use  ?  There's  history  now — what  am  I  the 
better  for  knowing  that  Semiramis  lived  1965  years  be 
fore  the  Christian  era  ?  a  good-for-nothing,  wicked  wom 
an,  I  don't  care  when  she  lived !  or  that  Babylon  had  a 
hundred  gates  ?  It  would  be  more  to  me  if  papa  would 
get  one  new  one  at  our  front  entrance.  Or  that  the  an 
cient  Egyptian  language  was  the  same  in  its  roots  with 
the  modern  Coptic  ?  I  care  a  vast  deal  more  about  the 
roots  of  my  roses !  Or  that  Cheops  succeeded  Ehamp- 
sinitus  ?  Horrid  unpronounceable  names !  That  Sesos- 
tris  was  a  mighty  conqueror?  and  so  on." 

"  I  must  confess,"  said  Walter,  involuntarily  catching 
the  spirit  of  frolic  that  sparkled  in  her  eye,"  "  you  have 
contrived  to  select  facts  not  very  important  to  you  per 
sonally  ;  but  you  should  remember,  Miss  Eleanor,  that 
history,  like  every  department  of  knowledge,  compre 
hends  many  details,  not  perhaps  interesting  in  them 
selves,  but  preparing  the  way  for  what  is  to  follow : 
thus  we  float  down  the  stream  of  time  to — " 

"  No,  no ;  I  don't  float,  I  sink  !  and  pray  don't  speak 
about  the  stream  of  time,  Mr.  Thornley,  I  beg  of  you ; 
it  only  reminds  me  of  that  great  chart  in  papa's  library, 
and  it  makes  you  seem  just  like  a  schoolmaster." 

"  But  I  am  nothing  else,"  Miss  Eleanor. 

"  Oh,  yes ;  you  are,  sometimes.  I  don't  ever  want  to 
think  of  you  as  a  schoolmaster,  they  are  always  so  dis 
agreeable  !  When  you  talk  to  papa  and  mamma  you 
don't  talk  so.  You  think,  perhaps,  that  I  don't  listen, 
but  I  do.  I  hear  every  word  you  say  to  them." 

"Eleanor!"  said  Mrs.  Meredith,  from  the  hall,  "are 
you  talking  or  reciting  ?" 


A   PEEP   AT   THE   PAST.  99 

"  Talking,  mamma." 

"About  your  lessons?" 

"No,  mamma." 

"  Then  please  attend  to  them,  and  do  not  waste  Mr. 
Thornley's  time." 

Kecalled  by  this  reminder,  Eleanor,  without  a  cloud 
on  her  brow,  opened  her  book,  and,  presenting  it  to  Mr. 
Thornley,  the  business  of  the  morning  began. 

After  a  long  sitting,  and  tolerable  recitations,  she  rose, 
put  on  her  bonnet,  her  vandyke,  and  nankeen  mitts,  in 
preparation  for  a  walk. 

"Do,  Mr. Thornley,  go  with  me.  I  am  sure  you  arc 
as  tired  as  I  am ;  and  it  is  so  solitary,  with  only  Bruno" 
— a  liver-colored  spaniel,  her  constant  attendant.  "I 
did  not  use  to  mind  it,  when  I  could  not  have  any  thing 
else ;  but  now  it  is  different,  and  I  am  sure  it  would  do 
you  good." 

"No,  thank  you,  Miss  Eleanor.  I  should  probably 
be  a  dull  companion,  for  walking  disposes  me  to  silence." 

"  A  silent  companion !  that  is  no  better  than  Bruno!" 

"  No ;  and  therefore  I  will  not  impose  myself  on  you." 

"  Well,  I'm  sorry  !  but  come,  Bruno !  my  only  friend! 
Mr.  Thornley  don't  care  for  us,  so  we'll  amuse  each  oth 
er,"  and  off  they  went. 

The  summer  months  glided  away  with  occasional  dis 
appointment,  but,  on  the  whole,  with  increasing  satisfac 
tion  to  Walter,  who  saw  that,  with  now  and  then  a  re 
lapse,  Eleanor  was  really  gaining  in  application  and  in 
terest  in  her  studies ;  he,  meantime,  careful  not  to  in 
crease  her  distaste  by  undue  rigor,  secured  his  influence 
by  his  forbearance. 

One  sultry  morning,  having  been  detained  by  atten 
tion  to  her  mother,  who  was  slightly  indisposed,  Elea 
nor  entered  the  study,  and,  seating  herself  languidly, 
exclaimed,  "Oh  dear!  Mr.  Thornley,  it  is  so  warm 


100  WALTEK  THORNLEY;  OK, 

and  so  late,  would  it  not  be  better  to  omit  lessons  to 
day?" 

Walter  looked  at  his  watch. 

"It  is  only  twenty  minutes  past  the  hour.  I  see  no 
reason  why,  having  lost  that  much,  we  need  lose  more ; 
and  as  to  the  heat,  the  most  effectual  way  to  forget  it  is 
to  be  occupied." 

"Oh,  you  are  always  so  sensible!  I  wish  I  were  so. 
Shall  I  ever  be  so?" 

"I do  not  know." 

"Why  can't  you  say  you  hope  so,  Mr. Thornley ?" 

"  I  will,  if  you  give  me  cause  to  say  so." 

"Have  I  not  done  so  at  all?"  said  she,  with  a  re 
proachful  look.  "  I'm  sure  I  have  tried." 

"Yes,  Miss  Eleanor;  you  have  done  so.  I  am  most 
happy  to  admit  it ;  but,  you  know,  to  reach  the  goal,  we 
must  not  flag  by  the  way." 

"  Well ;  where  are  the  books  ?     I'll  begin." 

They  were  produced.  The  first  lesson  was  a  weary 
one  in  mathematics,  indifferently  got  through  with; 
then  a  Latin  translation  to  be  corrected ;  English  poetry 
to  be  recited ;  and  then  the  usual  historical  reading,  with 
a  review  of  that  of  the  previous  day,  presumed,  but  not 
proved  to  have  been  studied  over  in  the  interval.  This 
last,  when  she  was  in  the  mood,  had,  in  spite  of  her  orig 
inal  disgust,  been  rendered,  by  Walter's  commentaries,  a 
favorite  exercise.  But  now  she  was  not  in  the  mood. 

"  Oh,  what  a  tiresome  world  this  has  been !"  exclaim 
ed  she,  as  she  closed  the  book.  "Nothing  but  fighting, 
politics,  and  wickedness !" 

"  But  still,  at  times,  virtue  and  true  greatness.  Don't 
you  think  so  ?" 

"  Yes ;  if  they  would  only  leave  out  all  the  rest." 

"That  would  be  a  singular  compendium,"  said  Walter, 
laughing.  "Shall  I  prepare  a  'digest'  for  you,  consist- 


A  PEEP  AT  THE   PAST. 

ing  of  anecdotes  of  men  and  women,  omitting  time,  place, 
and  people,  and  entitle  it  the  '  Philosophy  of  History,  for 
the  use  of  Miss  Eleanor  Meredith  ?": 

Eleanor  returned  his  laugh,  saying,  "Yes,  yes,  that 
much  I  might  digest ;  at  present  I  am  surfeited." 

Walter  looked  grave. 

"  May  I  ask,  Miss  Eleanor,  which  of  your  studies,  so 
called,  do  you  prefer  ?" 

"Let  me  see.  History,  with  notes  by  Mr.  Thornley, 
sometimes  quite  agreeable;  mathematics,  so,  so;  rheto 
ric,  dreadful !— to  speak  by  rule  I  can't  endure ;  natu 
ral  history,  pretty  well — there's  life  in  that  at  least ;  my 
thology,  a  dull  story-book  about  impossible  gods  and 
goddesses;  natural  philosophy,  except  the  laws — laws 
are  always  tiresome,  you  know — quite  entertaining; 
French  I  like  very  much ;  drawing,  very  little ;  danc 
ing" — stopping  and  looking  demurely  in  his  face — "  is 
dancing  a  study,  Mr.  Thornley  ?" 

"  Yes,  with  opera  and  rope  dancers ;  the  last  especial 
ly,  who  understand  some  of  the  laws  Miss  Meredith  de 
spises." 

"Well,  as  long  as  /can  move,  and  see  every  thing 
moving  about  me,  I  can  not  much  care  about  the  laws 
of  motion.  If  I,  and  every  thing  else  stood  still,  I  should 
want  to  know  the  reason  why." 

Mrs.  Meredith's  admonitory  voice  not  raised,  and  the 
lessons  completed,  Eleanor  was  disposed  for  farther  chat. 

"I'll  tell  you,  Mr.  Thornley,  what,  of  all  things,  I 
should  like  to  do;  to  read  French  with  you." 

"With  me!  Miss  Eleanor.  My  pronunciation  is  not 
good.  I  can  not  undertake  to  teach  it." 

"  Then,  let  me  teach  you ;  my  accent  is  very  good — 
lparfait]  my  teacher  used  to  say,  though  I  do  not  be 
lieve  him.  Perhaps,  however,  it  is  better  than  yours. 
Do,  Mr.  Thornley,  let  me  teach  you.  Why  am  I  to 


102  WALTER  THORNLEY;  OR, 

learn  every  thing  of  you,  and  you  nothing  of  me  ?  Don't 
you  think  I  know  any  thing?  Oh,  I  will  show  you 
what  a  schoolmistress  I  can  be  !  I  shall  give  you  a  full 
return  of  the  *  stream  of  time,'  '  departments  of  knowl 
edge,'  '  digest  of  history,'  '  reaching  the  goal,'  and  so  on ; 
and  make  you  so  ashamed  of  your  '  indolence,'  and  your 
'  no  taste  for  study !'  Now  won't  you,  Mr.  Thornley  ?" 

Walter  found  it  impossible  to  resist  her  coaxing  smile. 
Besides,  it  was  an  exercise  of  her  faculties,  and  he  con 
sented. 

To  this  duty  she  always  came  with  alacrity,  and,  al 
though  she  at  first  found  infinite  amusement  in  correct 
ing  him,  and  even  he  was  diverted  out  of  his  propriety, 
it  became  more  and  more  a  serious  occupation,  he  de 
riving  a  real  benefit  from  it,  and  she  awakened  to  an  en 
tirely  new  pleasure  in  this  sense  of  power. 

Thus,  by  degrees,  Walter  led  her  on,  sometimes  by 
exhortation,  sometimes  by  turning  to  good  account  her 
childlike  flashes  of  fun  or  her  merry  caprices,  but  always 
preserving  his  own  ascendency.  From  a  progress  at 
first  scarcely  perceptible  her  advance  was  accelerated,  till 
her  young  mind,  effectually  stirred  by  new  ideas,  became 
eager  for  more  and  higher. 

She  would  sit  listening  in  rapt  attention  as  Walter, 
with  gentle  earnestness,  pointed  out  to  her  how,  through 
the  "  beggarly  elements"  of  teaching,  she  might  ascend 
to  an  enlarged  application  of  these  first  principles — to  an 
understanding  of  how  the  facts  of  other  times  became 
the  instructors  of  her  own,  and  how  even  Error  prepared 
a  highway  for  Truth.  How  Nature,  grand  and  beauti 
ful  as  she  is,  often  taught  us  by  the  meanest  agencies ; 
how  "  silk- worms  turned  the  philosophy  of  Sir  Thomas 
Browne  into  divinity,"  and  "that  Keason  may  go  to 
school  to  bees,  and  ants,  and  spiders ;"  that 


A  PEEP  AT  THE  PAST,  103 

"Nothing's  mean, 
But  every  common  bush  afire  with  God." 

How,  through  dry  and  abstract  mathematics,  which  had 
so  often  wearied  her,  the  heavens  which  she  loved  to 
contemplate  would  be  comprehended,  and  she  would 
thus  ascend  to  Him  "who  sitteth  above  the  heav 
ens." 

It  was  a  subject  for  a  painter — that  young,  childlike 
girl — that  youthful  teacher,  wise  beyond  his  years. 

On  one  occasion,  when  seated  in  the  western  piazza, 
at  sunset,  her  eye  intent  on  the  lovely  planet,  "  compan 
ion  of  retiring  day,"  she  looked  as  if,  with  the  poet,  she 
would  have  asked, 

"Why,  at  the  closing  gates  of  heaven, 
Beloved  star,  dost  thou  delay?" 

Walter,  interpreting  her  curious  gaze,  said,  "  Shall  I  tell 
you?"  and  proceeded  to  explain  the  phenomenon.  As 
he  concluded,  she  impulsively  put  her  hand  on  his  arm, 
and  exclaimed  with  animation,  "  How  beautiful  it  is  to 
know  all  these  things !" 

Walter  was  touched ;  the  young  spirit  had  come  at 
his  call ;  but  he  replied,  calmly, 

"  Yes ;  and  do  you  not  feel  that  it  makes  you  hap 
pier,  too,  Eleanor?" 

"  Oh  yes,  indeed ;  I  never  was  half  so  happy  in  my 
life." 

" He  called  me  i Eleanor,7 "  thought  she ;  "I  wish  he 
would  never  again  say  '•Miss  Eleanor.' " 

At  another  time,  when  an  aurora  was  sending  up 

"  Its  waving  brightness,  she, 
Curious,  surveyed,  inquisitive  to  know 
The  causes  and  materials,  yet  unfix'd, 
Of  this  appearance,  beautiful  and  new," 

and  bent  her  inquiring  eyes  on  Walter. 

He  shook  his  head.     "  I  can  give  you  only  conject- 


104  WALTER  THOKNLEY;  OB, 

ures;  but,"  added  lie,  with  a  smile,  "as  you  profess  to 
like  fancy  better  than  laiv,  perhaps  you  will  be  satisfied 
with  them." 

"  Oh  no,"  said  she,  hastily,  with  a  conscious  look  at 
the  remembrance  of  her  former  complacent  ignorance, 
"  Oh  no,  not  now ;  now  I  like  to  understand  every  thing 
— every  thing  that  you  teach  me." 

He  answered  by  remarks  on  equatorial  regions,  phos 
phorescent  lights,  earth's  motion,  and  so  on — very  grave, 
and,  as  Eleanor  thought,  very  wise ;  but  which,  being, 
perhaps,  behind  this  more  scientific  age,  it  may  be  best 
not  to  expose. 

But  sometimes  a  small  cloud  would  come  across  their 
fair  heaven.  Mr.  Meredith,  not  a  passionate  or  harsh- 
tempered  man,  could,  nevertheless,  occasionally  be  stern, 
and,  unfortunately,  did  not  always  discriminate  between 
greater  and  lesser  faults. 

One  morning  Eleanor  was  a  laggard  at  the  breakfast- 
table,  and  her  father's  reproving  eye  gave  effect  to  his 
inquiry : 

"  Pray  what  has  made  you  so  late,  Miss  Eleanor?" 

Kather  fluttered  by  her  delinquency,  she  replied,  "I 
was  up  late,  papa,  reading." 

"Beading!  and  what?" 

"  A  novel,  papa,  that  Emily  Morton  lent  me  last  even 
ing  when  I  went  to  see  her ;  a  very — " 

"  A  novel !"  interrupted  her  father,  in  a  tone  of  sur 
prise  and  displeasure;  "a  novel!  borrowed  and  read 
without  my  knowledge !" 

"  Indeed,  papa,  I  was — going — " 
'  But  her  embarrassment  only  confirmed  her  father  in 
the  suspicion  of  a  deliberate  disregard  of  an  injunction 
to  which  perhaps  he  attached  undue  importance,  "to 
read  only  such  novels  as  he  should  suggest  or  approve," 
and,  with  increased  displeasure,  he  added,  "  You  may  re- 


A  PEEP  AT  THE  PAST.  105 

tire  to  your  room" — a  permission  which,  however  un 
graciously  given,  was  readily  obeyed  to  hide  the  tears 
that  were  starting  to  her  eyes. 

Mrs.  Meredith  looked  disturbed,  but,  as  she  generally 
inclined  to  believe  her  husband  right,  she  did  not  inter 
fere.  But  Walter  was  not  so  passive ;  and  when  Mr. 
Meredith,  in  expectation  of  his  sympathy,  expressed  in 
strong  terms  his  determination  to  "exclude  from  his 
house  the  pernicious  trash  circulated  in  the  shape  of  nov 
els,  and  to  enforce  obedience  the  more  rigidly  as  he  saw 
the  prevailing  tendency  to  the  contrary,"  Walter  ven 
tured,  as  to  the  last,  to  demur. 

"  I  think,  sir,"  he  said,  "  if  I  may  be  permitted  so  to 
say,  that  you  were  rather  precipitate  with  Miss  Ele 
anor." 

"  Precipitate !     How  so  ?" 

"  You  did  not  allow  her  time  for  explanation,  sir.  I 
have  no  doubt  that,  if  not  an  entire  justification,  she  has 
a  sufficient  apology." 

Mr.  Meredith  for  some  moments  maintained  his  own 
side,  but  Walter  did  not  yield,  and  it  ended  in  his  being 
allowed  to  mediate,  that  the  present  unpleasant  feeling 
on  both  sides  might  cease  as  soon  as  possible. 

He  found  Eleanor  in  the  study,  her  eyes  red  with 
weeping,  and  her  voice  still  tremulous,  but  with  no  sign 
of  ill-humor.  Encouraged  by  him,  she  was  soon  calm, 
and  gave  the  required  explanation.  The  book  had  been 
recommended  by  Mr.  Morton  to  his  daughter,  and  Ele 
anor  had  brought  it  home  with  the  intention  of  asking 
her  father's  permission  to  read  it,  but  he  was  in  town, 
and  would  not  return  till  morning.  "  And  then,"  con 
tinued  she,  "  I  only  opened  it  to  see  what  sort  of  a  book 
it  was;  and  it  was  so  interesting  that  I  forgot  myself, 
and  read  till  quite  late.  But,  Mr.  Thornley,  it  can  not 
do  me  any  harm,  for  there  is  no  love  in  it.  They  told  me 

E2 


106 

so,  or  I  should  not  have  looked  into  it  without  papa's 
leave.  Can  it  do  me  any  harm  if  there  is  no  love  in  it, 
Mr.  Thornley?" 

"Walter  answered,  with  due  gravity  and  caution,  that 
he  should  hope  not. 

"  And  I'm  sure,"  continued  she,  "  I  am  safe  enough, 
for  I  don't  care  so  much  for  any  gentleman  I  know  as 
to  fall  in  love  with  him."  Then,  with  a  sudden  reflec 
tion  on  what  struck  her  as  ill-manners,  she  added  the 
common  qualification,  saying,  with  an  innocent  smile, 
"  except  you,  Mr.  Thornley ;  I  beg  your  pardon,  I  did 
not  mean  to  say  that  I  did  not  care  for  you ;  that  would 
be  very  rude  and  ungrateful,  I  am  sure." 

"Walter,  quietly  assuring  her  that  he  should  never  im 
pute  rudeness  to  her,  returned  to  the  subject  in  hand, 
and,  furnished  with  her  explanation,  apology,  and  the 
offending  volume,  which  proved  to  be  "Caleb  Williams," 
peace  was  restored. 


A  PEEP  AT  THE   PAST.  107 


CHAPTER  XI. 

THE  quiet  of  the  Oaks  was  not,  however,  to  be  undis 
turbed.  His  garden,  to  which  Mr.  Meredith  had  retired 
on  his  return  from  a  hot  day  in  town — the  flowers, 
whose  bloom  and  fragrance  seemed  emulously  to  offer 
an  acknowledgment  of  his  care — the  music  of  the  birds, 
whom  his  shrubberies  invited  and  his  mercy  protected, 
could  not  dispel  the  cloud  from  his  brow.  Pestilence 
had  breathed  on  the  city !  and  the  coming  woe  was  al 
ready  to  be  seen. 

"  Amid  those  scenes  of  late  so  fair 
The  Demon  of  the  Plague  had  cast 
From  his  hot  wing  a  deadly  blast !" 

Scarcely  a  month  had  gone  since  sounds  of  joy  and 
exultation  from  all  ages  and  every  class  had  filled  the 
air,  where  now  was  only  silent  dread  or  loud  foreboding  ; 
where  hands  had  been  clasped  in  friendly  greetings, 
and  congratulations  exchanged,  neighbors  avoided  each 
other,  or  met  but  to  confirm  their  mutual  fears.  Bon 
fires  and  illuminations,  that,  in  accordance  with  the  sen 
timent  of  the  elder  Adams,  had  expressed  a  nation's  joy, 
were  replaced  by  lurid  flames  and  heavy  smoke — sup 
posed  preventives  of  contagion — more  truly  the  portents 
of  death.  Peace  and  war,  so  lately  occupying  all  minds, 
were  forgotten  in  smaller  considerations  of  personal 
safety. 

The  consternation  soon  became  general.  All  fled  but 
those  whom  imperious  duty,  humanity,  or  poverty  de 
tained.  More  than  half  the  population  abandoned  the 
city,  finding  refuge  in  the  neighboring  towns  and  vil 
lages,  in  country  residences,  or  in  slight  dwellings  hastily 


108  WALTER  THORNLEY;  OR, 

erected  in  great  number  over  the  island.  Business  was 
suspended ;  but  persons  from  out  of  town  ventured  to 
the  post-office — removed  to  the  corner  of  "Wall  Street 
and  Broadway — at  certain  hours,  it  having  been  pro 
nounced  by  medical  men  safe  to  do  so ;  and  clergymen, 
who  had  sought  safety  in  Greenwich  and  Bloemendal, 
came  at  stated  times  for  the  performance  of  religious 
service. 

But  why  sadden  a  simple  story  with  farther  details  ? 
Plague  and  Pestilence  have  had  their  chroniclers,  from 
Thucydides  to  Grant  Thorburn ;  Boccaccio,  De  Foe,  Man- 
zoni,  and  others.  All  tell  of  human  nature  the  same 
tale.  Its  cowardice  and  courage,  its  selfishness  and  gen 
erosity,  its  desperate  mockery,  its  palsied  stupefaction, 
its  blind  fatalism,  and  its  Christian  submission. 

But  Time,  whether  he  "shed  odors"  or  tears  "from  his 
wings,"  must  pass.  The  summer,  with  its  weight  of  woe 
and  anxiety  went  "  to  the  years  beyond  the  flood,"  and 
autumn,  never  more  welcome,  came.  Frost,  often  the 
extinguisher  of  life,  was  how  hailed  as  its  only  hope, 
and  with  the  advancing  season  the  fugitives  began  to 
return. 

In  November  the  Merediths  were  re-established  in 
Broadway.  At  first  the  change  was  oppressive.  The 
mourning  garments,  the  sad  faces,  the  sorrowful  details 
that  daily  met  them,  seemed  scarcely  endurable.  But 
with  the  returning  current  of  life  the  ravages  of  death 
were  gradually  obliterated.  If  people  met  to  lament 
for  the  lost,  they  lingered  to  rejoice  for  the  living;  the 
very  extent  of  the  calamity  magnifying  the  deliverance, 
and  sorrow  for  the  inevitable  past  yielding  to  wonder 
at  the  scarce  credible  present. 

Eleanor  in  the  grave  town  library  regretted  the  airy, 
cheerful  country  study,  endeared  to  her  by  pleasant  and 
profitable  occupation ;  but  her  tutor  and  her  lessons  re- 


A  PEEP   AT  THE   PAST.  109 

mained,  and  these  sufficed  for  her.  Walter  encouraged 
in  proportion  as  she  was  interested,  instruction  was  no 
longer  a  task  to  either ;  and,  but  that  her  young  com 
panions  gathered  round  her  and  would  not  be  denied, 
her  thoughts  would  have  seldom  wandered  from  it. 

"Holidays"  next  brought  an  interruption,  though  El 
eanor  declared  her  indifference  to  the  amusements  pro 
posed.  But,  in  conformity  to  custom  almost  religiously 
observed,  festivity  ruled  the  hour,  and  the  young  came 
in  for  their  share.  Sleighing  parties  to  "Love  Lane," 
Haerlem,  and  Kingsbridge ;  oyster  suppers  and  danc 
ing  ;  the  streets  musical  with  sleigh-bells ;  the  side 
walks,  though  icy  and  dangerous,  filled  with  well-dress 
ed  people,  gave  token  of  the  respect  paid  to  ancestral 
usages.  Among  the  pleasures  of  the  time  were  its  du 
ties,  and  respectful  calls  on  gray-headed  friends  were  not 
omitted  by  the  young.  Eleanor,  appropriately  attired 
in  a  dark-green  silk  cardinal,  lined  and  trimmed  with 
fur,  a  hat  to  correspond,  muffed  and  tippeted,  and  her 
feet  protected  by  galoches,  had  been  thus  occupying 
the  morning ;  and  after  presenting  the  "compliments  of 
the  season"  to  certain  ancient  ladies,  the  friends  of  her 
family,  was  on  her  return. 

In.  crossing  Broadway,  the  near  approach  of  a  sleigh 
with  mettlesome  horses  startled  her,  to  escape  which  she 
quickened  her  pace,  slipped  on  the  glazed  and  treacher 
ous  flagging,  and  fell  just  as  she  reached  the  curb-stone. 

The  driver  instantly  checked  his  speed,  and  a  young 
man  sprang  from  the  sleigh  and  hastened  to  her  assist 
ance.  With  expressions  of  the  greatest  regret  he  at 
tempted  to  raise  her ;  but,  though  she  tried  to  aid  him 
by  her  own  exertions,  she  found  it  impossible  to  do  so. 
Perceiving  her  changing  color,  and  the  necessity  of  im 
mediate  relief,  he  lifted  her  in  his  arms,  bore  her  to  the 
sleigh,  and  placed  her  in  it,  where,  nearly  fainting  with 


110  WALTER  THORNLEY;  OR, 

pain,  she  sank  back  powerless  on  the  cushions,  just  able, 
in  reply  to  the  gentleman's  eager  inquiry  for  her  resi 
dence,  to  give  the  number  of  her  father's  house. 

In  a  few  moments  they  were  at  the  door.  To  lift  her 
from  the  sleigh  and  ascend  the  steps  was  the  work  of  an 
instant,  though  the  young  man  seemed  too  slight  for  the 
burden.  The  bell  was  answered  as  soon  as  most  bells 
are,  but  there  was  time  for  the  distressed  Eleanor  to 
stammer  forth  her  thanks  before  James  appeared,  his 
usual  dull  face  excited  to  consternation  at  the  sight  of 
"  young  missus  in  the  arms  of  a  strange  gen'leman." 
This  last,  however,  offered  no  apology  for  the  liberty, 
but,  hurrying  to  the  first  open  door,  deposited  his  charge 
on  a  sofa,  to  the  yet  greater  terror  of  Mrs.  Meredith,  and, 
having  explained  the  accident,  begged  to  be  directed  to 
a  physician.  In  the  uncertainty  of  the  amount  of  inju 
ry,  the  offer  was  not  to  be  declined ;  and  the  gentleman, 
giving  his  card,  with  a  request  to  be  permitted  to  make 
inquiries  the  next  day,  disappeared. 

The  physician,  soon  came.  On  examination  it  proved 
that  no  bone  was  fractured ;  but  a  severely  sprained  an 
kle  and  a  bad  bruise  were  sufficient  to  produce  the  suf 
fering.  Eest  was  imperatively  enjoined,  and  this,  with 
proper  external  applications,  would,  he  hoped,  soon  re 
store  her. 

As  this  conclusion  was  arrived  at,  Mr.  Meredith  and 
Walter  entered.  They  had  been  met  at  the  door  by  the 
usual  exaggerations,  *'  Miss  Eleanor  had  been  run  over, 
her  leg  broken,  and  she  was  very  bad!"  but  Eleanor's 
voice  assured  them. 

"  Don't  be  frightened,  papa.  Oh,  Mr.  Thornley,  don't 
look  so !  'tis  only  a  sprain,  and  I  shall  be  well  directly." 

Mrs.  Meredith,  having  given  the  particulars,  with 
many  comments  on  the  young  gentleman's  "sensible 
behavior,"  produced  his  card. 


A  PEEP  AT  THE   PAST.  Ill 

"  I  have  heard  the  name,"  said  Mr.  Meredith,  "  but  I 
don't  know  the  family,"  and  he  handed  it  to  Walter. 

"  Oscar  Middleton !"  he  exclaimed,  with  surprise. 

"Do  you  know  him?"  asked  Mr.  Meredith. 

"  I  once  met  him  ;  'tis  long  ago,  when  we  were  boys ;" 
and  but  for  "  the  letter,"  which  flashed  across  him,  he 
would  have  said  more ;  as  it  was,  he  remained  silent. 

The  violence  of  the  pain  yielded  to  good  care,  but 
Eleanor  continued  lame,  and  a  prisoner.  Mr.  Middleton 
called  the  next  day,  but  saw  only  Mrs.  Meredith,  upon 
whom  his  kind  inquiries,  his  regrets,  his  good  looks  and 
good  manners  made  an  agreeable  impression.  Almost 
daily  calls  ensued ;  yet  he  and  Walter  did  not  meet  un 
til  one  morning,  just  as  Oscar  rang  for  admission,  Wal 
ter  opened  the  hall-door  in  order  to  go  out. 

Oscar  did  not  appear  to  observe  him,  but  stood  await 
ing  the  servant.  For  a  moment  Walter  suspected  his 
inattention  to  be  design,  and  was  about  to  pass  him  with 
equal  indifference.  Better  thoughts  prevailed.  "He 
may  not,"  he  reflected,  "recollect  me;  I  should  not, 
perhaps,  have  recognized  him  under  other  circum 
stances."  The  "letter"  was  no  longer  remembered  as 
he  looked  in  that  kind  young  face ;  he  stopped,  extend 
ed  his  hand,  and  said,  "  Oscar  Middleton,  have  you  for 
gotten  Walter  Thornley?" 

Oscar  started,  the  color  rushed  to  his  cheek,  his  eye 
sparkled,  and,  grasping  the  hand  that  was  offered,  he 
exclaimed,  " Forgotten  him !  never!" 

The  appearance  of  James  interrupted  farther  commu 
nication.  Foregoing  a  visit,  leaving  compliments  and  a 
card,  he  turned  to  his  friend,  saying, 

"  Come,  let  me  go  with  you ;  and  you  shall  tell  me 
all  I  want  so  much  to  know — where  you  have  been,  and 
why  you  are  here ;"  and,  taking  his  arm,  they  descend 
ed  the  steps. 


112  WALTER  THORNLEY;  OR, 

In  few  words  Oscar  was  in  possession  of  all  that  there 
was  to  tell. 

"  And  so  you  are  the  tutor  of  the  little  girl  I  came 
near  killing.  Upon  my  soul,  I  envy  you !  Why,  she 
is  one  of  the  loveliest  creatures  I  ever  saw.  Don't  you 
think  so?" 

"  That  would  be  a  very  safe  assertion  for  me,"  replied 
Walter,  laughing,  "as  my  observation  has  not  been 
large,  and,  for  the  same  reason,  not  very  compliment 
ary;  but,  coming  from  you,  it  is  worth  something; 
however,  I  shall  not  deny  that  she  is  a  pretty  child,  and, 
what  is  better,  quite  studious." 

"  Pshaw !  that  sounds  so  pedagogic ;  and  '  child,'  too ! 
why,  Walter,  I  shall  renounce  you  if  you've  grown 
priggish." 

"  Oh,  I  only  spoke  professionally.  If  I  call  her  child, 
it  is  from  the  relation  in  which  I  stand  to  her,  and  be 
cause  she  is  such  in  naturalness  and  docility,  so  much 
so  that  I  really  forget  her  age.  But  tell  me  of  yourself. 
You  are  tall,  and  strong,  I  hope,  in  proportion." 

"  Oh,  yes ;  those  springs  cured  me.  I  repeated  the 
dose  the  next  year,  and  since  that  I  am  well,  as  /  say, 
though  my  careful  mother  will  not  hear  of  a  profession, 
and  keeps  me  forever  in  the  open  air.  She  has  a  theory 
about  constitutions  much  the  same  as  about  trees :  that 
the  fibre  of  the  young  wood  must  have  time  to  become 
tough  and  hardy  before  exposure.  She  gives  me,  I  be 
lieve,  till  five-and-twenty  to  acquire  a  close  grain  and  a 
rough  bark,  and  after  that  I  may  be  trusted  to  do  some 
thing.  In  the  mean  time,  if  I  happen  to  cough,  she 
sighs ;  but  you  see  how  fresh  and  strong  I  look." 

Walter  saw  indeed  that  his  color  was  bright,  but  he 
feared  he  overrated  his  strength.  He  changed  the  sub 
ject. 

"  And  how  is  your  mother?    I  can  never  forget  her, 


A  PEEP  AT  THE  PAST.  113 

though  I  can  hardly  hope  that  she  has  any  remembrance 
of  me." 

"  Indeed,  you  are  greatly  mistaken.  She  often  talks 
of  you,  and  always  in  the  kindest  terms.  In  truth,  you 
must  have  taken  a  pretty  strong  possession  of  all  our 
hearts ;  for  whenever  my  father,  in  reproof  of  my  short 
comings,  proposes  a  model  for  my  imitation,  he  chooses 
you,  and  I  listen  without  jealousy.  They  will  both  be 
delighted  to  see  you.  We  live  about  six  miles  from 
town.  My  father  hates  a  city,  and  therefore  we  remain 
at  the  '  Lodge'  summer  and  winter.  Tell  me  when  you 
will  go,  and  I  will  drive  you  out." 

This  was  embarrassing.  It  was  plain  that  Oscar  was 
unconscious  of  the  "  letter,"  and  Walter  was  willing  to 
believe  that  his  mother  was  equally  so ;  but  there  was 
the  fact,  only  aggravated  by  the  insincere  commenda 
tions  that  Mr.  Middleton  had  bestowed  on  him.  His 
mind  was  entirely  settled;  go  to  the  house  he  would 
not.  He  must  excuse  himself  to  Oscar  as  he  best  could. 
Meanwhile,  he  had  the  comfort  of  finding  him  un 
changed  ;  and  as,  in  consequence  of  his  almost  familiar 
admission  to  Mr.  Meredith's,  he  should  often  see  him,  he 
was  satisfied,  and  hoped  that  his  friend  would  be  so  like 
wise. 

The  good  impression  made  by  Oscar  prompted  to 
some  attention  to  his  parents.  Accordingly  Mr.  and 
Mrs.  Meredith  called  on  them,  were  charmed  with  the 
lady,  not  much  pleased  with  the  gentleman.  The  visit 
was  returned  by  Mrs.  Middleton  alone,  with  an  apology 
on  the  part  of  her  husband,  and  the  intercourse  went  no 
farther,  Mr.  Meredith  setting  Mm  down  as  a  churl  not 
worth  the  trouble  of  seeking,  and  Walter  regretting 
that,  being  from  home,  he  had  lost  the  only  chance  of 
seeing  Mrs.  Middleton. 

Eleanor,  released  quite  as  soon  as  had  been  predicted 


114  WALTER  THORNLEY;  OR, 

from  the  confinement  of  her  room,  was  now  permitted 
to  recline  on  a  sofa  in  the  parlor.  As  soon  as  he  might 
be  admitted,  Oscar  was  allowed  to  see  and  congratulate 
her ;  and  he  did  so  with  so  many  protestations  of  sorrow 
and  shame  for  the  suffering  he  had  caused  that  Eleanor 
could  not  help  feeling  a  little  important.  Flattery  had 
seldom  fallen  on  her  inexperienced  ear.  Her  young 
companions  were  more  likely  to  tell  disagreeable  truths ; 
her  father's  cautious  commendations  were  always  accom 
panied  by  deductions ;  her  mother,  though  affectionate, 
was  not  demonstrative;  and  " Mr.  Thornley !  he  never 
paid  her  a  compliment  in  his  life !" 

As  a  part  of  their  rather  rigid  system,  Mr.  and  Mrs. 
Meredith  resisted  an  early  introduction  into  general  so 
ciety,  but  they  looked  approvingly  on  Eleanor's  inter 
course  with  a  small  circle  of  young  friends,  consisting 
of  girls  of  her  own  age,  with  their  brothers  and  inti 
mates,  who  met  at  their  respective  houses  in  turn,  often 
presided  over  by  a  mamma  or  elder  sister.  Dancing 
was  varied  by  the  innocent,  if  not  very  intellectual 
games  of  Pope  Joan,  Cassino,  and  the  like.  Charades, 
crambo,  and  conundrums  had  their  turn;  early  hours 
prevented  all  waste  of  their  fine  spirits,  and  a  simple  re 
freshment  was  entirely  satisfactory  to  youths  as  yet  not 
vitiated  by  "  Broadway  saloons." 

"Mr.  Thornley,"  said  Eleanor,  one  clay,  "I  do  wish 
you  would  join  our  cotillon  parties." 

"I  have  no  invitation,  Miss  Eleanor." 

"Oh,  that  is  only  because  the  girls  think  you  too  grave, 
and  too — too — old,  perhaps,"  she  added,  with  a  smile. 

"  And  as  I  never  dance,  you  know,  they  would  only  be 
confirmed  in  their  unfavorable  opinion  if  I  were  to  go." 

"  Well,  I  will  sit  and  talk  with  you  all  the  evening  if 
you'll  go,  and  try  to  be  as  old  as  you  are,  and  we  sha'n't 
care  what  they  say." 


A   PEEP   AT  THE   PAST.  115 

"  I  would  not  so  much  abridge  your  enjoyment,  Miss 
Eleanor." 

"  But  it  would  be  better  for  me ;  for  mamma  is  rather 
afraid  of  my  danoing  much,  since  the  sprain  I  got." 

"  Ah !  but  I  should  disappoint  others — Mr.  Middleton, 
for  instance." 

"  Oh,  I  only  danced  with  him  so  often  because  he  was 
a  stranger,  but  now  he  is  quite  acquainted  with  them 
all,  and  can  do  very  well  without  me ;  so  do  go,  please, 
Mr.  Thornley,  I  can  arrange  it  easily." 

"Excuse  me,  Miss  Eleanor.  I  will  compromise  the 
matter ;  when  your  friends  meet  here  I  will  not  absent 
myself." 

Accordingly,  on  the  next  occasion,  Walter  remained 
with  the  young  people.  At  first  some  of  the  more 
thoughtless  exclaimed,  "Eleanor's  tutor!  dear  me,  we 
shall  not  dare  to  speak !" 

But  they  soon  found  the  "  tutor"  a  valuable  addition, 
not  only  taking  part  in  every  game,  but  making  accept 
able  suggestions.  Among  others  he  proposed  "  charac 
ters,"  -which,  furnishing  a  little  mental  stimulus,  added 
to  the  excitement.  Kings,  queens,  and  nobles,  as  their 
memory  served  them,  were  enacted  by  the  young  repub 
licans — exultant  in  their  short-lived  honors.  On  his 
own  part,  Walter,  adapting  himself  to  the  topics  of  the 
day,  and  furnished  by  the  ingenuity  of  Eleanor  with 
the  symbolical  red  cap,  appeared  as  a  furious  Jacobin. 
So  successfully  did  he  travestie  the  extravagance  and 
the  assumption  recently  exhibited  by  the  French  agents 
in  this  country — so  well  did  he  propitiate  the  admiring 
"  citoyens"  and  "  citoyennes"  around  him  with  greetings 
of  "Health  and  Fraternity!" — so  happily  interlard  his 
speech  with  Gallicisms,  the  "Eights  of  Man,"  and  the  pre 
vailing  political  slang,  that  at  its  conclusion,  "  Qa  ira !  §a 
ira !"  in  its  popular  air,  was  shouted  by  the  young  men 


116  WALTER  THORNLEY;  OR, 

in  so  loud  a  key,  that  Mr.  Meredith,  roused  from  his  la 
bors  in  the  library,  entered  the  room  to  check  their  mer 
riment,  but  remained  to  share  it. 

Mrs.  Meredith,  who,  seated  at  her  work,  had  been  an 
amused  spectator,  now  proposed,  as  something  more 
quiet,  "Mottoes,"  an  entertainment  that  has  descended 
to  our  day.  These  consisted  of  lines  addressed  to  each 
person,  complimentary  or  otherwise.  The  idea  was  ac 
cepted,  and  immediately,  pens,  ink,  and  paper  being  pro 
duced,  all  heads  and  hands  were  at  work.  But  the  as 
pirants  met  the  usual  difficulty  that  obstructs  such  first 
efforts.  Pens  were  mended ;  dipped  and  redipped ;  ink 
flowed,  but  not  ideas ;  brows  were  knit,  foreheads  rub 
bed,  and  lips,  perhaps  nails,  bitten ;  but  little  was  effect 
ed.  During  this  perturbation,  Walter  had,  unobserved, 
slipped  his  contribution  into  the  vase  placed  to  receive 
it,  and  then  occupied  himself  with  a  book  while  waiting 
for  the  distracted  ebullitions  of  the  rest. 

Eleanor,  nibbling  the  end  of  her  pen,  bending  over 
three  or  four  lines  complete,  except  the  rhymes,  and  try 
ing  in  vain  to  find  harmonies  for  "  sage  and  grace,"  look 
ed  up,  exclaiming,  "  Why,  Mr.  Thornley,  you  not  writ 
ing  !  then  pray  help  me." 

Walter  suggested  "  rage  and  lace,"  "  cage  and  brace," 
"  wage  and  chase." 

"  No,  no,  won't  do,"  said  Eleanor,  shaking  her  head. 

"  Let  me  see  the  subject,  and  perhaps  I  may  suggest 
something  that  will  suit  you." 

"  Oh  no,  no,  not  for  the  world !" 

"  Well,  then,  I'll  try  again :  ;  page  and  trace,'  ( gauge 
and  base,'  '  stage  and  pace.'  " 

Again  she  shook  her  head;  but,  presently,  having 
found  what  she  sought,  she,  with  a  merry  look  at  Wal 
ter,  tossed  a  slip  of  paper  into  the  vase. 

At  length  the  work  was  achieved,  and  the  results 


A   PEEP   AT  THE   PAST.  117 

drawn  forth,  with  as  much  interest  as  if  votes  from  an 
electoral  urn — if  not  as  important,  quite  as  inflammatory. 
For  such  was  the  accumulation  on  the  part  of  the  gen 
tlemen,  in  the  taste  of  the  time,  of  darts  hearts,  fire  ex 
pire,  love  dove,  glow  woe,  blaze  craze,  that,  like  a  bun 
dle  of  locofocos,  they  should  have  been  kept  in  a  match- 
safe^  at  least  till  the  young  ladies  were  marriageable.  A 
few  of  the  least  dangerous  may  be  offered  to  the  reader. 
One,  a  cut  at  Oscar  for  his  gallantry,  another  at  Walter 
for  his  gravity,  and  two  of  a  more  sentimental  descrip 
tion. 

A  slip  inscribed  "  To  Mr.  Middleton"  ran  thus : 

"  Sir  Calydore  you  sure  should  be. 

Knight  of  gentle  courtesy ! 
With  smiles  receive  him,  ladies  all, 
He  only  lives  to  be  your  thrall  1" 

Another  to  "  Mr.  Thornley,"  thus : 

"  How  wondrous  to  see  Mr.  Thornley,  the  sage, 

Our  juvenile  sports  here  to  grace — 
Believe  me,  that  smiles  will  enliven  your  age, 
And  smooth  out  the  lines  from  your  face !" 

While  this  was  reading,  Eleanor,  reminded  of  hav 
ing  betrayed  her  authorship,  listened  rather  uneasily. 
Though  it  cost  her  some  trouble,  it  sounded,  when  read, 
flat,  and  not  over  civil ;  and  its  good-humored  accept 
ance  hardly  relieved  her. 

To  this  succeeded  one  addressed  "  To  Mrs.  Meredith :" 

"What  meets  us  at  the  hour  of  birth, 
Nor  leaves  us  till  we  pass  from  earth 

To  spheres  above  ? 

Exhaustless  gives,  and,  suffering  long, 
Forgives  unask'd,  through  sin  and  wrong ; 
Speaks  in  the  last,  the  parting  breath, 
And  still  undying  conquers  Death  ? 

A  mother's  love ! 

Mrs.  Meredith  accepted  it  with  a  look  that  sufficiently 


118  WALTER  THORNLEY;  OR, 

repaid  the  tribute,  and  Eleanor  thought  she  knew  who 
had  offered  it. 

The  next  was  addressed  to  herself : 

"  Maiden  !  with  those  truthful  eyes, 
Within  whose  heart  a  fountain  lies 

Of  feeling  fresh  and  rare  ! 
Oh,  waste  not  life's  sweet  dewy  prime, 
Though  joy  may  prune  the  wings  of  Time, 
Be  wise  as  you  are  fair!' 

She  held  out  her  hand  to  receive  it;  then,  without 
speaking,  turned  away,  in  order  to  secure  it.  Walter 
continued  to  read,  apparently  unobservant  of  what  was 
passing.  Presently,  one  of  the  young  ladies  said, 

"  What  have  you  done  with  your  motto,  Eleanor?  I 
did  not  half  hear  it ;  let  me  see  it." 

"  Not  now,"  she  replied ;  and  then,  in  a  low  voice, 
added,  with  a  significant  gesture,  "  It  was  good  advice, 
and  I  have  '  laid  it  to  heart.' " 

Thus  occupied,  dancing  was  forgotten.  The  hour  of 
separation  came ;  and,  as  soon  as  her  friends  had  gone, 
Eleanor,  turning  to  Walter,  exclaimed,  "  How  agreeable 
you  have  been,  Mr.  Thornley !  The  girls  were  all  de 
lighted,  and  say  you  must  always  meet  with  us." 

"  They  are  very  good ;  but  that  would  be  hardly  safe, 
I  fear." 

"Not  safe!     Why?" 

"  Every  one  can  not  endure  pleasure  as  well  as  you 
do,  Miss  Eleanor.  It  would  quite  turn  my  head,  though 
yours  is  so  little  affected  by  it." 

"  Oh !"  said  she,  half  ashamed,  yet  rather  reproachful 
ly,  "I  know  what  you  mean ;  but  it  is  not  so.  Only  I 
have  so  many  things  to  do !" 

He  said  no  more ;  but  his  resolution  was  taken,  and 
an  opportunity  soon  offered  for  making  it  known. 

"  I  think,  Mr.  Thornley,"  said  Mr.  Meredith,  "  that  the 
large  indulgence  permitted  to  Eleanor — in  good  part 


A  PEEP   AT   THE   PAST.  119 

owing  to  her  accident — should  now  be  restricted.  "We 
have  had  party -going  enough.  I  shall  speak  to  her 
mother  about  it." 

"  If  you  will  allow  me,  sir,  I  was  about  to  say  what 
will,  perhaps,  induce  you  to  continue  your  indulgence. 
I  wish  to  visit  my  friends  at  Ashton,  and,  if  agreeable 
to  you,  would  take  this  time  for  the  purpose.  By-and- 
by  Miss  Eleanor  will  return  to  study  with  a  greater 
zest.  We  must  not  expect  too  much,  nor  require  every 
young  lady  to  be  a  'Jane  Grey' — to  prefer,"  he  added, 
with  a  smile,  "the  'divine  Grecian'  to  an  Oscar  Middle- 


"  ISTo ;  children  will  be  fools — and  you  really  wish 
this?" 

"I  do,  sir." 

"  Then  I  have  no  more  to  say,  though  I  can  not  but 
regret  it.  When  would  you  go  ?" 

"  In  two  days,  sir." 

"  Arid  when  return?" 

Walter  hesitated,  looked  perplexed,  even  troubled. 

"Will  you  certainly  require  my  services,  sir?  Our 
year,  though  not  completed,  shall  be  so  considered  if  you 
desire  it.  I  do  not  hold  you  to  any  engagement." 

"  I  do  not  desire  it,"  replied  Mr.  Meredith,  with  em 
phasis.  "  You  have  satisfied  me  in  all  respects,  and  I 
prefer  you  should  return." 

Still  Walter  hesitated,  but  at  length  bowed,  and  gave 
what  he  could  hardly  conceal  was  a  reluctant  assent. 

"  You  will  have  the  goodness,  then,  sir,  to  mention  the 
matter  to  Mrs.  Meredith  and  to  Miss  Eleanor,  and  I  will 
make  the  few  preparations  that  I  require." 

On  farther  reflection,  it  was  decided  that,  as  in  conse 
quence  of  domestic  arrangements  they  would  remove  to 
the  country  earlier  the  ensuing  spring,  Walter's  furlough 
should  extend  till  they  were  settled  at  the  "  Oaks." 


120  WALTER  THORNLEY;  OR, 

This  appeared  to  relieve  him,  and  he  replied  more 
readily, 

"I  shall  come,  sir,  at  the  time  appointed,  unless  you 
forbid  it." 

"  There's  little  fear  of  that." 

The  young  circle  met  again  at  Mrs.  Meredith's,  and 
Walter  was  escaping  from  the  drawing-room,  when  a 
glance  from  Eleanor,  who,  by  the  side  of  Oscar,  was  pre 
pared  for  a  cotillon,  seemed  to  reproach  his  desertion. 

"  'Tis  the  last  evening,"  thought  he,  and  he  remained; 
and,  leaning  against  a  window  near  her,  followed  the 
dancers  with  an  abstracted  look.  Presently  a  change  in 
the  air  recalled  him,  and,  drawing  nearer,  he  found  Ele 
anor  dancing  the  "  coquette."  She  was,  in  her  merriest 
mood,  just  making  the  accustomed  feint  of  presenting 
her  hand  to  her  partner,  when  she  suddenly  turned  to 
Walter,  who,  before  he  could  comprehend  her  purpose, 
found  himself  whirled  round,  an  involuntary  partaker 
of  the  dance,  much  to  the  amusement  of  all.  The  next 
change  was  the  "prisoner;"  and  Oscar,  catching  Ele 
anor's  frolic  spirit,  instead  of  allowing  himself  to  be  en 
circled,  made  one  of  the  ring,  and  so  extended  it  as  to 
entrap  Walter,  who,  thus  caught,  folded  his  arms  with  a 
submissive  air,  while  his  captors  tripped  gayly  round 
him ;  but,  as  soon  as  released,  made  good  his  retreat  to 
his  own  room. 

"  There  he  goes  I"  said  Oscar  to  Eleanor ;  "  what  can 
he  have  so  important  to  do  ?" 

"Oh,  he  is  never  idle  a  moment!"  she  replied,  send 
ing  a  regretful  look  after  him.  "  When  he  is  not  teach 
ing  me,  unworthy  that  I  am,  he  is  reading  law." 

"Law!  as  a  profession?" 

"  Yes ;  and  papa  has  advised  him  what  to  read." 

Oscar  became  thoughtful,  and  received  a  rebuke  for 
his  inattention. 


A  PEEP  AT  THE  PAST.  121 

Walter,  meanwhile,  took  the  measure  of  his  room 
more  than  once,  turned  over  his  books,  did  not  feel  like 
reading,  leaned  on  the  mantle-piece,  ruminated  as  he 
looked  into  the  fire,  resumed  his  walk  "  autour  de  sa  cham- 
bre,"  and  wasted  the  evening  in  unprofitable  thought,  till 
roused  by  a  tap  at  the  door,  and  the  entrance  of  Oscar. 

"  Ah !  you  shabby  fellow,  to  desert  us  1"  he  exclaim 
ed ;  "  but  I  can  not  abuse  you  as  you  deserve ;  I  am 
too  sorry !  Mr.  Meredith  tells  me  you  are  going  away, 
"Walter;  can  this  be?" 

"  Yes ;  but  only  for  a  short  time ;  at  most  not  more 
than  three  or  four  months." 

"  But  you  and  I  may  not  meet  so  soon." 

"  You!  you  are  not  going  too  ?" 

"Yes;  in  a  little  time  I  shall  be  off,  seeking  what  I 
may  never  find,  at  least  to  the  degree  that  is  necessary 
to  keep  my  parents  quiet.  I  have  been  more  plague 
than  pleasure  to  them  thus  far.  If  they  would  only  not 
insist  on  my  being  perfectly  well,  they  and  I  could  enjoy 
life  without  this  perpetual  struggle  after  health.  As  it 
is,  I  must  meet  the  embraces  of  the  spring  in  the  sunny 
south,  instead  of  awaiting  her  caprices  here,  merely  be 
cause  they  hear  me  cough  once  in  four-and-twenty 
hours." 

"  But  you  will  return  as  soon  as  they  think  it  safe  for 
you  here?" 

"JSTo;  they  have  some  half -formed  plans  that  may 
keep  us  all  away,  no  one  can  say  how  long.  But  we 
won't  talk  of  this  just  now.  My  dear  Walter,  I  fear  you 
think  me  but  a  thoughtless  boy ;  yet  I  am  not  quite  so 
much  so  as  I  seem.  But  I  did  not  come  here  to  speak 
of  myself.  'Tis  you  of  whom  I  am  thinking.  For  some 
reason,  I  have  found  it  impossible  to  get  you  to  my  fa 
ther's.  I  know  he  is  in  manner  cold,  and  often  repuls 
ive  ;  but  his  nature  is  generous  and  true,  and  he  might 

P 


122  WALTER  THORNLEY;  OR, 

have  been  a  useful  friend,  had  you  allowed  him  so  to  be. 
Nay,  don't  interrupt  me  with  disclaimers  and  explana 
tions  ;  let  that  pass.  You  had  your  reasons,  I  dare  say ; 
perhaps  good  ones.  But,  now,  hear  me  patiently.  My 
father  has,  for  some  time,  made  me  a  liberal  allowance — 
much  more  than  I  required ;  for,  fearing  the  effect  of  the 
incessant  guardianship,  which  he  thinks  my  very  life  re 
quires,  he  enlarges  my  liberty  in  every  way  that  can 
conduce  to  self-dependence.  I  pretend  not  to  be  better 
than  other  youths,  but,  as  a  matter  of  taste,  I  hate  vice ; 
and,  if  I  have  not  abused  his  indulgence,  I  have  to  thank 
the  pure  influence  of  my  mother,  who  has  formed  that 
taste.  But  this,  though  introductory,  is  yet  aside  from 
my  object,  which,  in  plain  truth,  is  to  say  that  I  have 
husbanded  some  three  hundred  pounds,  and  that  you 
must  take  them.  They  are  my  own,  as  you  perceive, 
but,  remaining  in  my  hands,  are  useless.  I  therefore 
transfer  them  to  yours,  as  I  have  the  right  to  do.  You 
propose  to  yourself  an  honorable  career.  You  will  suc 
ceed  ;  you  can  not  fail ;  but  something  must  be  wanted 
at  the  outset.' 

Walter  took  the  hand  that  had  rested  beseechingly  on 
his,  but  he  did  not  speak — he  could  but  press  it — while 
he  endeavored  to  suppress  his  emotions. 

Oscar,  receiving  this  as  assent,  returned  the  pressure, 
and  said  eagerly,  "  Now  that's  a  good  fellow !  that's  like 
yourself.  I  am  the  person  obliged,  and  a  frank  accept 
ance  doubles  the  favor.  You  shall  have  it  in  the  morn 
ing.  Good-night ;  and  God  bless  you." 

"  Stop  !  stop !"  said  Walter.  "  Not  so ;  I  have  heard 
you,  now  hear  me.  That  I  understand — that  I  honor 
your  generosity,  your  delicacy,  you  must  see,  you  must 
feel ;  and,  were  it  necessary,  I  declare  on  the  faith  of  a 
true  man,  I  would  not  refuse  you — would  not  wound 
you  by  paltry  objections  to  a  pecuniary  obligation  which. 


A  PEEP  AT  THE   PAST.  123 

between  friends,  so  far  from  humbling,  elevates,  as  the 
expression  of  that  which  is  far  better  than  money.  But 
the  assistance  you  offer  is  not  required.  I  have  already 
refused  it  from  my  best  friend.  I  can  not  tell  you  my 
reasons.  Perhaps  pride  may  have  part  in  them.  Not 
the  pride  that  shuns  an  obligation,  but  the  determination 
to  prove  that  I  have  in  myself  the  power  to  conquer  my 
fate,  and  make  my  destiny.  For  this  I  must  act  alone. 
If  I  felt  myself  propped,  even  by  the  kindest  arms,  I 
should  be  shorn  of  my  strength ;  I  should  cease  to  trust 
myself,  and  I  should  be  lost!  This  sounds  to  you  as 
presumption — perhaps  mere  fustian.  I  can  not  help  it, 
for  I  can  not  be  more  explicit.  Accuse  my  folly  and 
my  vain  self-reliance — I  submit ;  but  do  not  doubt  my 
affection  nor  my  gratitude.  Take  my  hand  and  my 
heart — give  me  yours.  They  are  more  to  me  than  un 
told  gold.  Oh,  Oscar !  you  can  never  know  how  price 
less  is  love  to  me  /" 

Oscar  took  the  hand  extended  to  him,  pressed  it  be 
tween  his  own,  and  said  in  a  broken  voice,  "  Dear  Wal 
ter,  you  distress  me.  I  can  not  comprehend — I  do  not 
judge — I  ought  not;  but  one  thing  I  do  know:  I  love 
and  honor  you  more  than  ever,  though  I  seem  to  under 
stand  you  less.  I  can  not  press  what  you  in  such  terms 
reject.  I  can  but  bitterly  feel  that  I  can  do  nothing  in 
myself,  nor  for  others." 

Walter  cast  his  arms  around  him,  pressed  him  earnest 
ly,  and  said  in  a  tender  voice ;  u  Yes,  yes,  Oscar ;  you  will 
bless,  and  be  blessed  ;  all  /ask  is  strength  to  endure." 

"Good-night!"  "  Good-night !"  and  they  parted- 
Oscar  with  a  promise  to  see  him  again  before  he  went. 
But,  instead  of  his  so  doing,  Walter,  on  leaving  his  room 
in  the  morning,  found  a  note  from  him,  saying  that,  be 
ing  unexpectedly  obliged  to  leave  home  on  business  for 
his  father,  he  could  not  keep  his  engagement. 


12-i  WALTER  THORNLEY;  OB, 


CHAPTER  XII. 

AT  the  usual  hour  Walter  was  at  his  post  in  the  li 
brary,  where,  though  with  frequent  interruptions  and 
less  zeal  than  he  could  wish,  the  prescribed  routine  had 
been  observed.  Uncertain  if  Mr.  Meredith  had  commu 
nicated  his  intention,  and  of  its  reception,  he  waited  in 
some  anxiety.  He  was  not  long  in  doubt.  Eleanor  en 
tered  with  a  troubled  face — the  flush  of  fun  and  frolic 
all  gone. 

With  half-averted  eyes,  and  in  a  voice  low  and  trem 
ulous,  she  said,  "  Papa  has  told  me  you  are  going  away, 
Mr.  Thornley." 

"  Yes,  Miss  Eleanor." 

"  And  he  says  you  wish  to  go ;  is  that  so?" 

"Yes;  it  is  some  time,  you  know,  since  I  left  my 
friends." 

"Is  that  your  only  reason?"  she  asked,  looking  up 
timidly  into  his  face. 

Her  embarrassment  seemed  contagious,  for  Walter 
colored  and  hesitated. 

"Oh!  I  see  it  is  as  I  feared;  you  are  going  because 
you  are  tired  of  such  a  careless,  idle  girl — a  pupil  who 
so  ill  repays  your  trouble.  It  is  no  wonder  you  don't 
wish  to  teach  me ;  no  wonder  you  are  displeased ;  I  de 
serve  nothing  better." 

Hastily  interrupting  her,  Walter  exclaimed,  "Dis 
pleased  !  never !  impossible !  do  not  apply  such  a  word 
to  me.  Not  wish  to  teach  you !  it  has  been  the  greatest 
pleasure  of  my  life." 

His  unusual  warmth  reassured  her,  and  she  spoke 
with  more  confidence. 


A  PEEP  AT  THE  PAST.  125 

"  I  could  not  blame  you,  Mr.  Thornley,  if  it  were  so. 
I  know  I  have  been  negligent  of  late — why,  I  can  not 
tell,  for  I  am  sure  I  have  never  lost  the  taste  you  have 
been  at  such  pains  to  excite  in  me.  But  I  have  been 
easily  persuaded ;  the  girls  were  so  teasing !  And  then 
Mr.  Middleton  was  so  kind — so — so — attentive — that — " 
She  looked  down,  colored,  and  seemed  not  to  know  how 
to  proceed. ' 

Was  it  that  she  felt  the  poverty  of  the  excuse?  or 
was  it  a  girlish  consciousness  of  a  welcome  conquest? 
Walter  thought  it  the  last,  and,  to  relieve  her  embarrass 
ment,  replied  in  a  calm  and  encouraging  tone : 

"  We  will  not  seek  for  the  cause  of  what  you  accuse 
yourself:  a  fault  felt  and  acknowledged  is  in  a  fair  way 
to  be  corrected.  Let  us  say  no  more  about  it." 

"Then  I  feared  you  would  never  come  back ;  but  you 
will?  You  are  not  cheating  us,  Mr.  Thornley  ?" 

"Cheating  you!  how  can  you  imagine  it?  I  would 
not  deceive  you  for  the  world." 

The  accustomed  smile  returned,  and  she  replied,  play 
fully,  "Then  I  will  let  you  go.  It  would  be  selfish  to 
try  to  keep  you  longer  from  your  family,  when  they  will 
be  so  happy  to  see  you.  But  you  won't  forget  us,  will 
you?" 

"  Family !"  thought  Walter,  while  a  shade  fell  on  his 
face ;  "  where  am  I  to  seek  for  mine  ?" 

"  Oh,  Mr.  Thornley,  don't  look  so !  I  would  not  have 
you  too  glad  to  go,  but  I  can  not  bear  to  see  you  sorry. 
Come !  I  have  something  that  will  please  you — a  good, 
really  good  exercise.  I  know  it  must  be  so,  because  I 
have  worked  with  all  my  heart.  I  don't  mind  work 
now  as  I  used  to  do.  I  have  not  forgotten  the  answer 
of  Euclid  to  the  Egyptian  king,  of  which  you  told  me — 
'  There  is  no  royal  road  to  learning' — and  I  have  been 
up  this  morning  studying  two  hours  before  breakfast." 


126  WALTER  THORNLEY;  OR, 

Walter  looked  pleased  and  grateful,  and  rewarded  her 
efforts  with  the  kindest  approval. 

The  lessons  over,  Eleanor  rose  to  retire,  saying,  "  But 
you  will  write,  Mr.  Thornley — to  papa — or — to  mam 
ma?" 

"  Yes,  if  they  wish  it." 

"And  you  will  send  me  messages  about  my  studies? 
I  shall  not  be  idle  because  you  are  away.  And  perhaps 
mamma  will  write  you  what  I  am  doing." 

"  I  shall  be  very  happy  to  hear,  Miss  Eleanor." 

"  And  you  will  tell  me  before  you  go  what  I  should 
read?" 

"Certainly,  if  you  desire  it." 

Having  to  make  some  purchases  before  leaving  the 
city,  Walter  in  the  course  of  the  morning  entered  a  shop 
in  Broadway.  While  waiting  the  leisure  of  the  shop 
man,  his  attention  was  attracted  to  the  gentleman  he  was 
serving.  His  air  and  dress  were  striking ;  and,  though 
he  spoke  English,  he  was  evidently  a  foreigner.  Just  as 
he  had  completed  his  purchase,  a  carriage  stopped  at  the 
door.  The  shopman,  casting  a  glance  toward  it,  said  to 
a  clerk,  "  There  is  Mrs.  Middleton.  She  has  called  for 
the  article  she  ordered  yesterday ;  hand  out  the  parcel." 

But  the  parcel  was  not  made  up,  and,  while  the  clerk 
prepared  it,  Walter,  strongly  impelled  to  see  her  again, 
went  to  the  door.  The  glass  was  down,  and  she  was 
giving  directions  to  the  footman.  He  could  not  resist 
the  opportunity,  and  approached,  saying,  as  he  present 
ed  himself,  in  rather  a  doubtful  tone,  "Walter  Thornley, 
madam." 

Her  smile  and  hand  immediately  assured  him.  If  his 
person  was  not  recognized,  his  name  was  not  forgotten. 
She  was  but  little  changed  herself,  and  compared  well 
with  the  image  in  his  mind. 

To  her  inquiries  for  Mr.  Grafton  succeeded  the  kind- 


A   PEEP   AT   THE   PAST.  127 

est  expressions  of  interest  in  himself,  and  pleasure  at  the 
renewal  of  his  intercourse  with  her  son ;  but,  though  re 
gretting  not  seeing  him  at  "  the  Lodge,"  Walter  remark 
ed  that  the  invitation  was  not  repeated. 

To  his  inquiry  for  the  health  of  Mr.  Middleton  she  re 
plied  with  emphasis,  "  No,  he  is  not  well.  Our  mode  of 
life  does  not  suit  him.  He  hates  cities  and  civilization. 
I  hope  to  induce  him  the  ensuing  summer  to  explore 
some  of  the  wild  parts  of  the  country.  These  will  at 
least  have  the  charm  of  novelty." 

As  she  spoke,  her  eye,  which  had  wandered  from  Wal 
ter,  seemed  to  encounter  something  displeasing.  He 
turned  to  follow  its  direction,  and  perceived  the  gentle 
man  he  had  met  in  the  shop  at  a  little  distance,  with 
folded  arms,  and  gaze  so  intently  fixed  upon  her  as 
would  easily  explain  the  offended  expression  of  her  face. 
At  the  same  moment,  with  a  wave  of  her  hand  to  Wal 
ter,  and  drawing  up  the  glass,  she  reclined  on  the  seat, 
and  the  carriage  drove  off. 

As  he  re-entered  the  shop,  he  perceived  the  gentleman 
standing  as  if  immovable,  and  when  he  again  came  out 
he  was  on  the  same  spot,  his  eyes  still  following  the  car 
riage,  which,  having  passed  round  a  corner,  disappeared. 
Then,  as  if  mechanically,  he  joined  Walter  and  walked 
in  silence  by  his  side. 

For  some  time  neither  spoke.  At  length  the  gentle 
man  said,  "  You  know  that  lady,  then  ?" 

"  I  can  claim  but  a  very  slight  personal  acquaintance. 
She  is  better  known  to'  me  through  my  intimacy  with 
her  son." 

"  Ah !  her  son !  You  know  him,  too !  Is  he  a  youth 
of  any  promise  ?" 

The  manner  of  these  inquiries  betrayed  no  idle  curi 
osity.  It  was  plain  that  the  speaker  had  an  interest, 
and  a  painful  one,  in  the  subject,  and  Walter's  sympathy 


128  WALTER  THORNLEY;  OR, 

was  excited.  He  replied,  therefore,  earnestly,  "Not 
only  'promise,'  but  performance.  He  is  manly,  gener 
ous,  intelligent,  truthful.  One  of  the  finest  fellows  Heav 
en  ever  made  !  I  am  proud  to  call  him  my  friend." 

As  he  spoke  he  was  struck  by  the  effect  his  words 
seemed  to  produce.  The  gentleman  was  unable  to  re 
ply.  At  length  he  said,  in  a  voice  that  betrayed  the  ef 
fort  it  cost  him,  "  Ah !  indeed !  He  is  not  then  like — 
his  father?" 

Whatever  might  be  Walter's  distrust  of  Mr.  Middle- 
ton,  he  could  not  avow  it  to  a  stranger ;  and  he  merely 
replied,  "I  have  not  seen  him  since  I  was  a  boy,  conse 
quently  have  no  right  to  an  opinion  about  him." 

"But  /  have !"  exclaimed  the  gentleman  with  a  burst 
of  passion.  "/  have  a  right  both  to  speak  and  to  do, 
that  but  for  her  should  be  sealed  in  the  blood  of  his 
black  and  treacherous  heart !" 

Inexpressibly  shocked,  Walter  turned  on  him  a  look 
that  recalled  him  from  what  was  evidently  an  involun 
tary  betrayal  of  his  feelings;  for,  suddenly  restraining 
himself,  he  said,  "Pardon  me,  sir.  The  only  atone 
ment  I  can  offer  for  thus  intruding  myself  upon  you  is 
to  say  that  your  honorable  testimony  to  your  friend 
may  do  him  better  service  than  you  can  possibly  com 
prehend.  Let  me  add  an  earnest  request  that  this  acci 
dental  interview  may  not  be  disclosed.  Good-morning," 
and  he  hastily  retreated,  leaving  Walter  in  a  state  of 
painful  astonishment. 

He  could  not  hear  unmoved  such  language  applied  to 
Mr.  Middleton,  of  whom  he  never  thought  without  the 
same  inexplicable  interest  that  he  had  formerly  excited 
in  him — so  great  that,  at  times,  he  could  scarce  restrain 
his  desire  to  ask  him  face  to  face,  "  Why  he  had  written 
that  cruel  letter?"  And  then  this  stranger,  who  could 
he  be  ?  The  deadly  foe  of  the  husband,  yet  the  friend 


A  PEEP  AT  THE  PAST.  129 

of  his  wife  and  son.  There  was  no  clue.  He  might  not 
even  seek  information  from  Oscar,  lest  he  should  violate 
the  injunction  imposed  on  him. 

A  hasty  step  approached,  and  the  gentleman  was 
again  at  his  side. 

"Could  you,"  said  he,  in  an  eager,  hurried  manner, 
"  could  you  so  far  oblige  me  as  to  obtain  for  me  a  sight 
of  your  friend  without  being  myself  observed  ?" 

While  "Walter  was  revolving  in  his  mind  how  this 
might  be,  Oscar  being  absent,  he  knew  not  where  nor 
for  how  long,  the  gentleman  seemed  to  recollect  himself, 
and  added,  "  But  no,  no,  'tis  best  as  it  is.  Excuse  me ;" 
and,  with  a  quick  step,  he  was  soon  out  of  sight. 

In  the  evening,  having  still  some  last  matters  to  at 
tend  to,  Walter  went  out.  His  own  business  done,  he 
was  on  his  way  to  the  upper  part  of  the  city  to  deliver 
a  parcel  intrusted  to  him  by  Mr.  Meredith,  when  the 
theatre,  brilliantly  lighted,  attracted  his  attention.  It 
was  a  benefit  night,  and  many  were  thronging  the  doors. 

Like  all  young  persons,  Walter  was  fond  of  dramatic 
representations,  yet  he  had  been  to  the  theatre  but  once, 
resisting  both  invitations  and  tickets  from  Mr.  Meredith. 
On  this  occasion  he  relented. 

"  If  ever  so  much  enchanted  to-night,"  thought  he,  "I 
can  not  be  tempted  again  very  soon.  I  will  treat  my 
resolution.  It  is  well,  too,  just  now,  to  have  some  mer 
rier  company  than  my  own  thoughts." 

The  rage  for  the  German  drama,  so  great  at  that  time 
in  England,  had  extended  to  this  country.  The  New 
York  Theatre  was  struggling  into  existence,  Cooper 
then  in  the  ascendant,  for  whom  the  managers  of  New 
York  and  Philadelphia  were  contending,  and  the  popu 
lar  play  of  "The  Stranger"  had  saved  it;  and  for  this 
evening  another  favorite  drama  of  Kotzebue  was  an 
nounced. 


130  WALTER  THORNLEY;  on, 

"Walter,  having  found  a  seat  in  the  pit,  looked  over 
the  bill  that  was  handed  to  him. 

"  'Lovers'  Vows,'  "  he  repeated.  "  Not  for  me;  but 
if  I  may  not  have  the  reality,  perhaps  I  shall  enjoy  the 
semblance." 

The  cast  of  the  characters  was  favorable.  Mr.  Tyler 
well  supported  the  Baron,  and  Cooper  was  admirable  in 
Frederick.  The  lovely  Miss  E.  "Westray,  about  whom 
half  the  young  men  in  the  city  were  mad,  crowding  the 
lobbies  whenever  she  performed  for  a  passing  glance, 
yet  preserving  a  reputation  as  fair  as  her  face,  appeared 
as  Amelia.  Her  good  taste  and  dignity  gave  truth  and 
purity  to  a  part  which,  if  allotted  to  another,  might  have 
been  pert  and  indelicate ;  while  her  grace  and  naivete' 
imparted  to  it  a  charm  all  her  own. 

"Walter  was  soon  absorbed  in  the  play.  At  one  mo 
ment  displeased  with  Amelia,  the  next  fearing  for  the 
virtue  of  Anhalt ;  then  a  momentary  pity  for  the  Baron 
lost  in  indignant  compassion  for  Agatha ;  and  then  for 
getting  all  others  in  his  sympathy  with  Frederick.  All 
he  had  ever  suspected  and  feared  for  himself  came  rush 
ing  over  him.  He  listened  with  the  breathless  attention 
that  only  a  personal  interest  could  inspire,  till  at  the 
words,  "I  belong  to  no  one  I  All  the  world  disclaim 
me !"  no  longer  master  of  himself,  he  half  rose  from  his 
seat,  struck  his  hand  to  his  forehead,  and  an  indistinct 
exclamation  escaped  him.  The  action  drew  the  atten 
tion  of  the  person  next  him,  who  inquired  if  he  were  ill. 
Eecalled  by  this,  he  endeavored  to  listen  calmly;  but 
when  Frederick  declares  his  determination  to  share  the 
fate  of  his  mother,  to  know  only  the  name  that  she  shall 
bear,  to  be  only  Friburg  or  "Wildenheim,  as  she  may  be 
— an  avowal  that  called  forth  a  burst  of  applause — Wal 
ter's  was  the  loudest  and  longest. 

Thus  moved  he  was  unconscious  that  he  was  himself 


A   PEEP   AT  THE   PAST.  131 

an  object  of  attention.  A  gentleman,  apparently  at 
tached  to  a  party  in  a  box  on  that  side  of  the  house, 
near  which  Walter  was  seated,  with  a  glass  directed  to 
ward  him,  kept  him  constantly  in  sight.  When  the 
curtain  fell  at  the  conclusion  of  the  play,  he  rose,  and, 
after  another  scrutinizing  survey  of  Walter,  left  the  box. 
Others  also  went  out,  as  usual,  while  some  rose  and  look 
ed  about  them ;  but  Walter  sat  still,  his  mind  divided 
between  the  interests  of  the  play  and  his  own. 

The  signal  of  recall  was  given.  People  resumed  their 
seats,  and  among  them  the  gentleman  before  mentioned. 
If  Walter  had  been  at  the  moment  observant  of  any 
thing  external,  he  might  have  seen  him  speaking  to  a 
man  in  the  shadow  of  the  box  near  the  door,  to  whom, 
at  the  same  time,  with  a  slight  movement  of  his  hand, 
he  indicated  Walter.  The  man  retreated,  and  the  gen 
tleman  seated  himself,  but  it  was  plain  that  the  stage  in 
terested  him  less  than  the  young  man  in  the  pit. 

The  "  entertainment"  was  the  favorite  after-piece  of 
the  "  Spoiled  Child."  The  tricks  and  songs  of  little 
Pickle  received  their  accustomed  applause,  but  more 
than  usual  effect  and  importance  were  given  to  the  part 
of  Tag  by  the  performance  of  Jefferson.  Ah !  who  can 
ever  forget  him,  who  was  fortunate  enough  to  see  him 
in  those  more  worthy  of  his  powers  ?  in  Goldfinch,  the 
incomparable  Scaramouch,  or  the 

"  Father-in-law 
To  a  very  magnificent  three-tailed  bashaw?" 

The  curtain  finally  fallen,  and  the  people  pouring  out, 
Walter  found  himself  in  a  crowded  passage,  where  a 
person  wrapped  in  a  large  cloak,  and  guarding  himself 
from  the  rush  of  night  air  by  drawing  it  over  his  face  so 
as  nearly  to  cover  it,  jostled  him  in  the  attempt  to 
pass.  As  Walter  turned  to  resist  the  rudeness,  he  saw 
him  already  some  steps  ahead,  but  looking  at  him  over 


132 

his  shoulders  in  a  manner  rather  inconsistent  with  his 
apparent  haste. 

Once  clear  of  the  house,  he  thought  no  more  of  it. 
Oppressed  with  the  close  atmosphere  of  the  theatre,  he 
prolonged  his  walk  beyond  it,  and  soon  outstripped  the 
few  who  were  proceeding  in  that  direction.  After  a 
while  there  was  only  the  echo  of  his  own  feet,  when  at 
length  hearing  a  solitary  step  behind,  he  turned,  and  saw 
a  person  following  at  a  short  distance.  At  first  he  re 
garded  it  as  accidental ;  but  finding  that  when  he  had 
occasion  to  cross  the  street  the  man  did  so  too,  and  that 
when  he  recrossed  it  by  way  of  trial  the  man  did  the 
same,  he  stopped. 

Being  naturally  impatient  of  impertinence,  and,  more 
over,  stout-hearted,  he  turned  upon  the  man,  now  just 
behind  him,  and  said,  in  a  tone  of  authority,  "  Proceed, 
sir !  I  do  not  choose  to  be  dogged." 

The  man  passed  without  speaking,  and,  quickening 
his  pace,  was  soon  out  of  sight.  Walter  observed  that 
he  was  shorter  than  the  person  who  had  passed  him  in 
the  lobby,  whose  manner  had  somewhat  struck  him,  and 
that  he  wore  no  cloak.  He  looked  at  his  watch ;  it  was 
later  than  he  had  supposed,  and  he  retraced  his  steps 
toward  home. 

The  moon  was  up  and  bright,  but  soon  a  rack  of  dark 
clouds  drifted  across  and  completely  obscured  her.  Ev 
ery  object  had  thus  been  cast  in  deep  shadow  for  a  time, 
when,  suddenly  emerging,  she  revealed  the  same  man  on 
a  line  with  "Walter,  and  but  a  few  paces  from  him. 

Eaising  a  pretty  formidable  cane,  which  he  was  in  the 
habit  of  using  at  night,  Walter  advanced  a  step  toward 
the  man,  and  said,  "Begone  this  instant,  or  I  level  you 
to  the  ground!" 

It  was  plainly  no  idle  threat ;  and  he  retreated  hastily 
down  a  street,  the  corner  of  which  they  were  just  passing. 


A   PEEP  AT  THE  PAST.  133 

A  short  walk  brought  "Walter  to  the  house  at  which 
he  was  to  leave  Mr.  Meredith's  papers.  After  ascending 
a  flight  of  steps,  ringing  the  bell,  and  delivering  the  par 
cel,  he  was  about  to  descend  when  near  the  foot  he  again 
saw  the  same  person.  At  the  moment  a  watchman  ap 
proached  from  the  other  side  of  the  street. 

Walter  raised  his  voice.  "  Arrest  that  man,"  said  he ; 
"  he  is  about  no  good."  But,  taking  to  his  heels,  the  in 
truder  was  gone,  and  Walter  reached  Mr.  Meredith's  door 
without  farther  molestation. 

Conceiving  it  a  plan  to  rob  him,  which,  being  frus 
trated,  was  of  no  consequence,  he  did  not  mention  the 
circumstance  to  his  friends,  but  gave  the  little  time  that 
now  remained  to  what  interested  him  more. 

At  length,  with  an  effort  delayed  to  the  last  moment, 
he  bade  them  farewell  in  anticipation  of  his  early  morn 
ing  departure. 

"Walter's  return  brought  sunshine  to  Ashton.  But 
while  Mr.  Grafton  found  much  to  repay  the  pain  of  sep 
aration  in  the  development  the  natural  result  of  more 
varied  observation,  Damie's  scrutiny  and  approval  were 
directed  to  somewhat  different  things. 

""Well,  I  declare!"  said  she,  smoothing  down  his 
sleeve,  "  if  you  haven't  worn  this  'ere  coat  car'fully ; 
why,  it's  pretty  nigh  as  new  as  when  you  went  away." 

"  I  have  not  had  much  occasion  for  it,"  said  Walter. 

"  Why,  it  was  your  best ;  you  couldn't  help  wearin' 
it." 

"  Yes,  Damie,  till  I  got  a  better,  of  which,  I  dare  say, 
you  will  approve,"  he  added,  with  a  smile. 

It  was  a  presumptuous  conclusion.  She  only  opened 
wide  her  eyes  at  what  she  deemed  the  superfluities  of 
his  wardrobe ;  for  Damie,  like  other  womankind  over 
awed  by  boys  just  fledged,  knew  how  to  wonder  in  si 
lence,  inly  resolving,  however,  that  "  every  individival 


134  WALTER  THORNLEY;  OR, 

stitch  of  York  clothin'  should  be  packed  away  till  he 
went  back ;  so  he  needn't  have  no  excuse  to  buy  more." 

Among  others,  his  old  friend  Jed  lost  no  time  in  com 
ing  to  congratulate  him  on  his  return. 

"  I'm  as  glad  to  see  you,  Walter,  as  ever  I  was  to  see 
pay-day !  What  a  stout  lad  you're  grown !  And  you'll 
not  be  too  proud  to  fish  and  shoot  with  old  Jed,  because 
you've  been  among  the  quality,  will  you?" 

Walter  gave  the  desired  assurance,  amused  at  his  ex 
aggerated  idea  of  the  honor  that  had  been  "  thrust  upon" 
him  by  the  "  quality." 

Happy  to  be  again  among  his  early  friends,  he  betook 
himself  to  all  his  old  ways,  much  to  the  satisfaction  of 
Damie. 

"He's  not  a  speck  spiled,"  thought  she;  "just  as  nat- 
'ral  and  kind  as  ever.  Only  sometimes  I  kind  o'  con- 
sate  a  shade  like  comes  over  him ;  but  that's  only  'cause 
he's  older,  I  expect ;  and  as  to  gettin'  new  cloaths,  why 
boys  will  be  boys  all  the  world  over  I" 

Walter  had  been  at  home  nearly  a  month  when  a  let 
ter  was  sent  him  from  the  inn  at  the  next  town.  It  had 
been  left  there  by  a  person  who  passed  directly  on,  and 
was  inscribed  "  with  care  and  speed" — a  request  enforced 
in  this  instance,  probably,  by  a  "  consideration,"  as  it  had 
only  been  left  the  preceding  day.  Walter  opened  it, 
and  read  as  follows : 

"  You  have  disregarded  my  commands.  Be  thankful 
that  you  have  escaped  the  penalty  you  deserve  and 
might  have  incurred. 

"  Kemain  where  alone  you  are  safe,  and  do  not  farther 
tempt  the  consequences  of  my  just  displeasure  by  your 
disobedience." 

Without  date,  place,  or  signature,  there  was  still  no 
difficulty  in  ascertaining  the  writer. 


A  PEEP  AT  THE   PAST.  135 

"Why  should  he  not  have  sent  it  by  mail?"  said 
Walter ;  "  it  might  have  never  reached  me." 

"  Probably  because  he  could  not  evade  a  post-mark. 
He  has  evidently  strong  reasons  for  what  he  does,  since 
he  avoids  the  most  obvious  course." 

Walter  reflected,  and  recalling  his  being  dogged  the 
evening  before  leaving  the  city,  he  mentioned  it.  "  It 
might  have  been  some  creature  of  his,  instructed  to  as 
certain  my  place  of  abode,  in  which,  however,  he  failed. 
Himself  it  was  not.  Height  and  person  were  altogether 
different.  But,  having  discovered  my  '  disobedience,' 
as  he  presumes  to  call  it,  why  wait  a  month  before 
writing  ?" 

"  In  the  dark  as  we  are,  an  attempt  to  account  for  his 
actions  is  vain.  Besides,  you  can  neither  tell  when  the 
letter  was  written,  nor  at  what  distance." 

"That  is  true.  However,  it  matters  little  to  me;  I 
shall  proceed  as  I  have  begun." 

"  Walter,"  said  Mr.Grafton,  "  you  are  young  and  fear 
less — perhaps  because  older,  I  am  more  timid.  Do  not 
too  far  oppose  this  man.  This  late  attempt  at  New  York, 
I  confess,  increases  my  anxiety — abortive  though  it 
proved.  It  indicates  a  pertinacity  of  purpose  that  is  not 
to  be  foiled ;  perhaps  a  power  to  injure  if  not  to  benefit. 
Do  not  be  rash." 

"  My  dear  sir,  I  am  not  rash.  Believe  me,  my  reso 
lution  has  been  formed  deliberately,  I  may  almost  say 
religiously.  If  any  thing  in  him  inspired  confidence  I 
could  submit.  It  would  surely  be  no  hard  matter  to  re 
main  with  you.  But,  with  the  feeling  he  has  excited  in 
me,  to  leave  myself  a  mere  puppet  in  his  hands  would 
have  the  worst  possible  effect  on  me.  I  should  become 
useless,  irritable,  morbid.  I  dare  not  expose  myself  to 
such  a  trial.  No.  There  may,  indeed,  be  consequences 
I  can  not  foresee  from  opposing  him,  but  there  are  others 


136  WALTER  THORNLEY;  OR, 

not  less  terrible  to  me,  which  I  can  clearly  discern  in  the 
strange,  the  aimless  existence  to  which  he  would  con 
demn  me.  Look  at  his  letters;  see  the  style  in  which 
he  addresses  me — at  two-and-twenty  the  same  as  at  fif 
teen  ! — a  mere  string  of  threats  and  mysterious  warnings. 
His  object,  to  frighten  me  to  his  purpose.  That  of  it 
self,  aside  from  his  violated  engagements,  is  enough  to 
justify  distrust." 

"  But  you  know,  Walter,"  said  Mr.  Grafton,  hesitating 
ly,  "you  know — you  can  not — can  not  understand  the 
extent  of  the  claim  he  may  have  upon  you." 

"  Oh,  do  not,  my  dear  sir,"  exclaimed  Walter,  start 
ing  up,  and  pacing  the  floor,  "  do  not  speak  thus !  Any 
thing  else !  It  is  the  only  thing  I  can  not  bear.  I  must 
forget  it — it  drives  me  nearly  mad  to  think  of  it."  Then, 
recovering  himself,  and  taking  affectionately  Mr.  Graf- 
ton's  hand,  he  added,  "  Forgive  me.  I  ought  never  to 
disturb  you  by  such  violence.  Forgive  me,  and  I  will 
not  again  offend  you  by  it." 

A  letter  from  Oscar  gave  another  direction  to  his 
thoughts.  It  was,  as  usual,  kind  and  cheerful,  but,  to 
Walter's  surprise,  dated  from  Charleston,  to  which  place 
it  was  evident  that  he  had  been  hurried,  without  return 
ing  to  New  York.  There,  he  said,  his  parents  had  now 
joined  him.  Their  future  was  uncertain  ;  but  his  father 
talked  of  wild  explorations,  that  might  keep  them  even 
the  next  winter  at  the  South. 

These  rather  obscure  intimations  furnished  matter  of 
reflection.  Walter  remembered  the  stranger  he  had 
met  in  New  York,  and  his  hostility  to  Mr.  Middleton. 
"  Could  this  abrupt  desertion  of  their  home  be  connected 
with  that  person  ?" 


A  PEEP  AT  THE   PAST.  137 


CHAPTER  XIII. 

THERE  was  little  occasion  to  impose  on  Eleanor  a 
more  moderate  participation  of  pleasure.  Indifferent 
now  to  other  things,  her  chief  enjoyment  was  in  pursu 
ing  the  course  of  reading  that  Walter  had  recommended 
at  parting.  But  the  life-giving  spirit  was  gone ;  though 
she  persevered,  it  was  not  with  her  usual  animation,  and, 
to  add  to  the  shade  that  was  falling  on  her,  her  agree 
able  young  admirer,  Oscar,  was  gone  too — even  sooner 
than  had  been  expected.  She  and  her  mother  were 
passing  a  quiet  evening  at  home,  the  latter  weaving 
fringe,  the  former  weaving  fancies,  when  Mr.  Meredith 
entered  with  a  look  of  having  something  pleasant  to  say. 

"I  have  made  a  new  acquaintance,  my  dear," said  he, 
addressing  his  wife ;  "  one  whom  I  think  you  would  like 
as  much  as  I  do." 

"  That  is  very  probable,"  she  replied,  with  her  usual 
gentle  conformity.  "You  know  that,  like  Mrs.  Smith, 
who  does  not  venture  to  commend  the  weather  without 
adding,  *  Mr.  Smith  thinks  so  too,'  I  always  agree  with 
you." 

"  No,  not  always ;  I  should  not  love  you  so  well  if 
you  did.  I  like,  sometimes,  a  little  of  the  'Lawrence 
spirit/  it  keeps  domestic  life  from  stagnation." 

"Well,  well,  but  the  gentleman,  who  is  he?" 

"  Captain  Talbot.  He  dined  with  me  to-day  at  Mr. 
Ogden's.  He  was  the  life  of  the  company,  intelligent, 
full  of  anecdote,  and  fine  manners.  A  really  well-bred 
man ;  for  an  accomplished,  traveled  Englishman  is  the 
best  sample  of  gentleman  to  be  found,  the  world  over." 

"A  military  man,  of  course?" 


138  WALTER   THORNLEY;    OR, 

"  He  lias  been :  but  I  understand  he  sold  his  commis 
sion  some  years  since.  He  has  seen  service,  however ; 
has  a  fine  military  air,  and  is  about  six  or  eight-and- 
thirty,  though  he  looks  older — the  effect  of  his  profes 
sion,  I  suppose.  Ogden  says  he  is  not  rich,  he  thinks, 
but  very  well  connected.  He  is  acquainted  with  the 
Middletons,  and  has  been  in  this  country  more  than 
once  before." 

"Shall  you  see  him  again?" 

"  Oh  yes ;  I  shall  call  on  him  to-morrow,  and  ask  him 
to  dinner,  at  your  earliest  convenience." 

So  said,  so  done ;  and  at  the  day  appointed  Captain 
Talbot  appeared. 

Mr.  Meredith  had  not  exaggerated;  he  was  indeed 
little  prone  to  do  so.  The  guests  were  well  selected,  and 
the  captain  recommended  himself  to  all.  His  appear 
ance,  on  which  Mr.  Meredith  had  not  enlarged,  assisted 
to  this  effect.  He  certainly  looked  old  for  his  years,  but 
his  brilliant  eyes — the  keenness  of  which  was  tempered 
by  a  most  effective  smile,  his  fine  teeth,  dark  hair — thin, 
but  only  slightly  changed,  his  figure  and  air,  presented 
a  whole  that  most  persons  would  have  pronounced  still 
handsome. 

Eleanor,  sufficiently  grown  to  be  regarded  as  a  young 
lady,  retained  her  girlish  simplicity  of  dress  and  manner. 
Her  open  frock  was  exchanged  for  a  gown  of  fine  cam 
bric;  its  surplice  folds,  so  disposed  as  to  show  to  ad 
vantage  her  form,  were  confined  at  the  waist  by  a  girdle, 
and  its  tight  long  sleeves  fitted  perfectly  her  well-round 
ed  arm.  Her  hair,  still  allowed  to  be  uncontrolled,  fell 
behind,  in  its  natural  wavy  lines,  to  her  waist,  and  on 
her  forehead  and  cheek  lay  in  small  loose  ringlets.  Ear 
rings,  simple  gold  hoops  of  moderate  size,  and  a  brooch 
were  her  only  ornaments. 

Captain  Talbot  was  seated  at  Mrs.  Meredith's  right 


A  PEEP  AT  THE   PAST.  139 

hand,  and  Eleanor  next  him.  They  had  thus  the  bene 
fit  of  all  his  pleasantries,  whether  addressed  to  them 
selves  or  to  others ;  while  his  deferential  manner  toward 
the  mother  was  nicely  graduated  into  a  shade  of  kind 
ness  toward  the  daughter,  well  understanding  from  her 
youth  and  shyness  that  she  was  as  yet  unaccustomed  to 
take  a  part  on  such  occasions.  "  Youth  and  shyness," 
at  that  day,  were  considered  properly  inseparable ;  for 
there  were  then  American  girls  who  did  not  talk  loud, 
speak  fast,  laugh  immoderately,  nor  pronounce  confi 
dently — who  did  not  distort  their  fine  native  language 
by  "slang,"  nor  by  misapplication.  Of  many  things 
now  known  it  must  be  admitted  they  were  ignorant; 
but  they  did  know  that  a  volcano  was  not  "nice,"  a 
murder  not  "  funny ;"  that  commonplace  sensations  were 
not  "intense;"  that  mice  and  kittens  were  not  "awful;" 
that  caps  and  ribbons  were  not  "  loves  ;"  and  that  "  glo 
rious,"  "splendid,"  and  "jolly,"  were  not  convertible 
terms. 

"But  surely  there  are  just  such  girls  now,"  objects 
some  young  lady  reader.  "I  know  many  such;  there 
is  Miss  So — ,  and  So — ,  and  So — ." 

Granted,  fair  critic !  There  are  charming  exceptions, 
and  you,  undoubtedly,  among  the  number.  But  they 
only  serve  to  illustrate  the  too  common  rule. 

On  this  subject,  however,  you  will  not  be  easily  con 
vinced,  so  we  will  return  to  the  dinner-table,  where  the 
captain  confirmed  the  agreeable  impression  he  had  al 
ready  made. 

The  liking  expressed  By  Mr.  Meredith  appeared  to  be 
mutual,  as  was  proved  by  an  early  call  from  Captain 
Talbot,  longer  than  ceremony  required.  From  this  aus 
picious  commencement,  the  intercourse  ripened  so  fast 
that  he  was  soon  an  habitue  of  the  house. 

Mr.  Meredith,  descended  from,  and  by  marriage  con- 


140  WALTER  THORNLEY;  OR, 

nected  with  the  best  colonial  aristocracy,  had  imbibed 
with  prejudices  of  birth  strong  English  partialities. 
Though  early  involved  in  measures  tending  to  revolu 
tion,  and  a  consistent  adherent  to  the  interests  of  the 
Colonies,  he  had  been  slow  to  believe  in  the  possibility 
or  expediency  of  their  independence.  But,  yielding  at 
length  to  the  pressure  of  the  time,  he  had  sincerely  co 
operated  toward  such  a  result.  Once  obtained,  however, 
he  ardently  desired  to  maintain  friendly  relations  with 
the  parent  country.  At  the  origin  of  the  parties  which, 
soon  after  the  peace,  had  divided  the  public  mind,  he  had 
naturally  adhered  to  the  most  conservative,  and  fell,  like 
others,  under  the  imputation  of  British  influence.  The 
excesses  of  the  French  Eevolution,  excused  by  those 
who  remembered  only  their  ancient  ally,  confirmed  him 
in  these  opinions.  France  and  England  became  the 
watch- words  of  party,  and  a  rancorous  feeling  was  ex 
hibited  that  threatened  serious  evils.  Under  "  Federal" 
and  "Anti-Federal"  were  ranged  good  and  wise  men  on 
either  side ;  and,  as  must  always  be  the  case,  the  selfish 
and  unprincipled  were  also  found  in  both  ranks.  The 
press  fomented  the  passions  thus  engendered,  and  per 
sonal  abuse  knew  no  restraint ;  so  that  even  the  founder 
of  the  Republic  was  moved  to  say,  that "  every  act  of  his 
administration  had  been  tortured ;  and  that,  too,  in  such 
exaggerated  and  indecent  terms  as  could  scarcely  be  ap 
plied  to  a  Nero,  to  a  notorious  defaulter,  or  even  to  a  com 
mon  pickpocket."  At  this  moment,  however,  when  ac 
cumulated  injuries  seemed  to  have  reached  their  height, 
when  the  arrogance  and  lawless  attempts  of  Genet,  the 
pretensions  of  Fauchet  and  Adet,  the  insulting  tone  as- 
sunied  by  the  French  Directory,  the  insolent  dismissal 
of  our  minister  and  commissioners,  threatened  to  involve 
us  in  a  war  with  France,  a  better  and  more  national 
spirit  appeared.  A  common  feeling  of  injury  awaken- 


A   PEEP   AT  THE   PAST.  141 

ed  a  conviction  of  common  interest  and  mutual  depend 
ence. 

But  Mr.  Meredith  was  little  encouraged  by  the  lull  of 
party  storm.  He  saw  in  these  fearful  outbreaks  indica 
tions  of  disunion  and  anarchy ;  and,  invited  by  the  sym 
pathizing  tone  of  his  new  friend,  perhaps,  alas !  who  has 
not  a  weak  side? — perhaps  not  insensible  to  the  well- 
timed  regrets  of  Captain  Talbot  that  such  men  as  he 
should  not  be  placed  where  patriotism  and  talent  could 
have  their  effect,  gave  vent  to  his  occasional  despond 
ency. 

The  captain  was  remarkably  free  from  the  assump 
tion  ascribed  to  his  countrymen,  nor  had  he  any  of  the 
sore  feeling  which  so  recent  a  conflict  might  well  excite. 
On  the  contrary,  he  contemplated  the  matter  from  an 
impartial  position.  "  He  rejoiced  in  the  independence 
of  America.  It  was  best  for  both  countries.  He  con 
gratulated  himself  that  he  had  not  been  compelled  to 
draw  his  sword  in  a  cause  of  which  he  could  not  ap 
prove." 

"  But,  my  dear  sir,"  continued  he,  "  why  thus  disturb 
yourself?  No  man  more  rejoices  in  the  prospects  of 
your  country  than  myself;  but  look  at  the  history  of 
republics ;  where  have  they  endured  ?  And  where  is 
the  charter  which  insures  to  America  a  longer  duration  ? 
Be  satisfied,  then;  she  will  ascend  like  Athens — like 
her  will  fall.  Faction  will  eat  into  her  institutions. 
Her  great  men  will  be  overstepped  by  Eucrates  the 
rope-seller,  Cleon  the  leather-seller,  Lysicles  the  sheep- 
seller,  Hyperbolus  the  lamp-maker,  and  so  on ;  till  mis 
rule  shall  subside  under  the  strong  arm  of  some  vulgar 
demagogue  or  military  chief." 

"  And  you  counsel  me  to  be  satisfied  with  this?"  ex 
claimed  Mr.  Meredith. 

"  Yes ;  because  you  can  have  nothing  better.     But  it 


142  WALTER  THOKNLEY;  OK, 

may  be  long  before  such  a  termination.  Long  before 
your  young  'Demos'  comes  to  his  full  maturity,  and 
longer  still  before  he  becomes  the  '  Old  Demos'  of  the 
Athenian  stage — flattered,  cajoled,  and  impoverished  by 
some  artful  idol  of  the  day.  In  the  mean  time  genera 
tions  will  have  passed;  America  will  have  taken  her 
place  among  the  nations  and  on  the  page  of  history, 
which  will  record  her  rise  and  her  fall.  No,  no,  my  dear 
sir,  you  and  your  political  friends  are  more  rational  and 
practical  than  your  opponents,  but  even  you  can  not 
work  impossibilities.  You  can  not  save  mankind  against 
their  will.  Be  wise,  then;  enjoy  the  present.  Indif 
ference  is  the  only  philosophy  for  the  future." 

"No,"  said  Mr.  Meredith,  warmly;  "despondent  I 
may  sometimes  be — indifferent  I  can  never  be.  My 
prevailing  trust  is  in  the  good  sense  of  which  I  believe 
the  people  to  be  capable,  that  they  will  finally  work 
themselves  clear  of  the  mists  which  now  obscure  them. 
All  I  contend  for  is  that,  while  being  educated  for  lib 
erty,  they  should  be  under  competent  guardians.  If  I 
thought  as  badly  of  the  race  as  you  do,  Captain  Talbot,  I 
should  not  much  care  to  remain  in  a  world  subject  to  it." 

Mrs.  Meredith  and  Eleanor,  often  present  at  these  dis 
cussions,  were  not  uninterested  hearers ;  the  former  in 
dicating  by  a  word  or  a  look  her  accordance  with  her 
husband's  views,  and  Eleanor  silent,  but  wondering  that 
"  so  amiable  a  person  as  Captain  Talbot  should  think  other 
people  so  bad."  At  another  time,  when  the  subject  of 
imported  luxuries,  fashions,  and  vices  was  under  consid 
eration,  after  rallying  what  he  called  the  causeless  alarm 
of  Mr.  Meredith,  the  captain,  with  a  careless  laugh,  con 
cluded;  "Well,  then,  the  only  consolation  that  remains 
for  you,  sir,  is  the  *  Fable  of  the  Bees.'  You  know  the 
moral — '  Private  vices,  public  benefits.'  For  my  part, 
pretending  to  no  political  science,  I  leave  the  problem 


A  PEEP  AT  THE   PAST.  143 

of  civilization  to  longer  heads.  I  can  no  more  calculate 
the  agencies  that  act  on  this  world  of  ours,  than  I  can 
apply  Kepler's  law  to  planetary  motions.  I  am  but  a 
passenger ;  if  the  earth  is  wrecked  I  can't  help  it.  Like 
a  soldier,  I  do  as  I  am  ordered,  and  leave  consequences 
to  others.  It  is  with  you,  sir,  and  such  as  you — men  of 
wisdom,  talents,  and  influence — that  responsibility  rests." 

Thus,  often  agreeing  with  Mr.  Meredith,  or  differing 
but  to  give  spirit  to  the  conversation,  with  just  such  a 
dash  of  compliment  as  served  to  combine  and  harmonize 
the  whole,  it  was  not  surprising  that  Captain  Talbot 
should  be  an  acceptable  visitor,  and  that  certain  gleams 
of  a  cold  and  selfish  philosophy  should  be  unobserved ; 
or  excused,  as  the  effect  of  a  profession  which  led  him 
to  regard  men  as  machines  or  slaves — alike  drilled, 
whether  for  a  battle  or  an  election — and  equally  led 
blindly,  whether  it  were  by  a  superior,  or  by  their  pas 
sions. 

This  familiar  intercourse  soon  became  intimacy.  Cap 
tain  Talbot  seemed  by  an  instinct  to  adapt  himself  to  all 
— to  Mrs.  Meredith  by  donations  to  her  favorite  chari 
ties,  and  to  Eleanor  by  a  happy  mixture  of  encourage 
ment  and  respect,  inspiring  her  with  an  ease  and  freedom 
she  had  never  felt  toward  any  other  visitor. 

A  money  transaction  of  small  amount,  but  serving  to 
exhibit  the  captain  under  another  phase,  confirmed  his 
good  standing.  Certain  English  remittances  expected 
by  him  not  arriving,  he  requested  of  Mr.  Meredith  a  loan 
of  a  few  hundred  pounds.  It  was  readily  advanced, 
and  a  promise  given  of  early  repayment.  Before  the 
time,  the  money  was  returned  in  a  draft  on  one  of  the 
best  New  York  houses.  Mr.  Meredith  presented  it  him 
self,  not  sorry  to  have  an  opportunity  of  thus  obtaining 
farther  indirect  testimony  to  his  new  friend.  He  was 
not  disappointed.  The  draft  was  accepted  without  hes- 


144  WALTER  THORNLEY;    OR, 

itation,  and  the  merchant  proceeded  to  say,  "he  knew 
nothing  of  Captain  Talbot  except  in  the  way  of  business, 
but  he  had  had  frequent  exchanges  to  negotiate  for  him 
and  his  friends,  and  that  every  thing  had  been  perfectly 
satisfactory." 

The  time  for  retiring  to  the  country  arrived.  This, 
instead  of  interposing  an  obstacle  to  the  intercourse,  only 
gave  it  a  more  familiar  character,  the  captain  often  pass 
ing  an  unceremonious  day  at  "  The  Oaks,"  and  not  un- 
frequently  remaining  the  night — becoming,  in  short, 
"  Vami  de  la  maison." 

One  evening  Mr.  Meredith,  on  returning  from  the  city, 
had  that  air  which  experienced  wives  know  to  indicate 
something  on  the  minds  of  their  lords  paramount,  and, 
with  the  tact  of  the  sex,  without  any  direct  inquiry,  pre 
pared  the  way  for  its  disclosure,  were  he  so  disposed,  by 
an  early  removal  of  the  tea  obstructions,  and  then  by 
suggesting  some  employment  that  should  take  Eleanor 
from  the  parlor.  Then,  seating  herself  at  her  work,  she 
waited  till  Mr.  Meredith  should  open  his  budget  for  their 
mutual  relief.  She  had  not  long  to  wait. 

"My  dear,"  said  he,  "I  have  a  matter  to  submit  to 
you.  Captain  Talbot  has  proposed  for  Eleanor." 

With  unaffected  astonishment  Mrs.  Meredith  dropped 
her  sewing  and  looked  at  her  husband.  "  For  Eleanor ! 
Eleanor !  Well,  that  can  not  require  long  deliberation." 

" Do  you  mean  by  that,  approval  or  the  contrary?" 

"  The  contrary,  of  course.  Why,  Mr.  Meredith,  Elea 
nor  is  a  child !  and  he  is  more  than  double  her  age." 

"Very  true;  that  is  precisely  the  difficulty.  Aside 
from  that,  I  could  see  advantages  in  the  connection  not 
to  be  disregarded." 

"Advantages!" 

"  Yes.  To  be  sure  he  is  not  rich.  He  has  dealt  very 
frankly  with  me.  He  is  within  one  life  of  a  large  estate ; 


A   PEEP   AT   THE    PAST.  145 

but  that  life,  as  lie  says,  is  as  good,  or  better,  than  his 
own.  This,  however,  matters  little.  Eleanor's  large  leg 
acy  from  your  aunt,  to  be  hers  at  eighteen,  or  earlier,  if 
she  marry  before,  would  be  a  reasonable  independence. 
He  is  well  born — a  great  consideration — and  well  edu 
cated;  can  furnish  the  best  credentials  as  to  character 
and  position ;  is  a  man  of  sense  and  honor — a  better  guar 
antee  for  her  happiness,  and  for  her  character  yet  un 
formed,  than  if  he  were  a  young  man  as  immature  as 
herself." 

Mrs.  Meredith  listened,  but,  unconvinced,  returned  to 
her  first  objection. 

"  But,  my  dear,  she  is  a  child !  a  perfect  child !  her  ed 
ucation  not  yet  completed." 

"  True  again ;  but  he  could  therefore  better  train  her 
to  conformity,  and,  of  course,  to  sympathy." 

"  That  means  that  his  powerful  will  and  stronger  qual 
ities  would  crush  every  thing  individual  out  of  her.  I 
do  not  call  that ( sympathy,'  and  the  process  is  any  thing 
but  '  happiness.' " 

"Well,  well,  do  not  be  disturbed.  I  have  given  him 
to  understand  the  case  just  as  it  stands;  that  if  he  were 
ten  years  younger,  or  she  as  much  older,  I  should  not 
object ;  but  that,  as  it  is,  I  can  not  approve." 

" Then  it  is  settled,  is  it  not?" 

"  Not  quite.  He  still  asks  to  be  allowed  to  refer  the 
matter  to  herself;  this  is  the  point  for  us  to  decide.  For 
myself,  I  do  not  see  that  we  can  deny  him  so  small  a 
favor  as  a  refusal  from  her  own  lips." 

Mrs.  Meredith,  with  her  direct  common  sense,  had, 
woman-like,  jumped  to  a  conclusion,  and  not  far  from 
right.  She  saw  that  the  captain's  conversation,  his  man 
ners,  his  flattering  estimation  of  Mr.  Meredith — obvious, 
however  delicately  insinuated — did  not  permit  to  that 
gentleman  the  free  use  of  his  usually  sound  judgment. 

G 


146  WALTER  THORXLEY;  OR, 

She  saw,  too,  that  the  captain,  relying  on  the  friendly 
feeling  he  had  inspired  in  the  young  lady,  was  confident 
of  his  own  powers  of  persuasion ;  nor  could  she  tell  how 
far  the  silly  fancy  of  "  being  her  own  mistress"  might 
aid  him.  She  had  not  forgotten  that  the  pretty  daughter 
of  a  friend  of  hers  had  married  at  sixteen  a  baronet  of 
sixty,  for  the  bribe  of  going  to  England,  and  being  called 
"my  lady."  For  her  own  part,  "she  liked  the  captain 
very  well — liked  to  hear  him  talk  to  Mr.  Meredith — but 
didn't  care  for  a  nearer  connection."  So  she  sat  silent 
and  perplexed. 

"  Well,  my  dear,"  said  her  husband,  "  shall  he  be  per 
mitted  to  make  his  application?" 

"  And  you — you  will  not  suggest  any  thing  in  his  fa 
vor?" 

"No,  certainly  not ;  nor  you  any  thing  to  his  preju 
dice,  I  hope ;  for  I  conceive  it  a  point  of  honor  to  let  the 
captain  have  a  fair  field." 

With  this  non-interference  Mrs.  Meredith  felt  it  nec 
essary  to  acquiesce,  and  she  tried  to  wait  patiently  the 
result. 


A   PEEP  AT  THE   FAST.  147 


CHAPTER  XIV. 

THE  next  morning  the  all-unconscious  Eleanor,  put 
ting  on  her  straw  "scoop" — a  name  given  to  a  bonnet 
more  useful  than  comely — and  with  basket  and  scissors, 
prepared  for  her  accustomed  business  of  gathering  flow 
ers  for  the  parlor  decoration,  descended  into  the  garden, 
followed  by  her  inseparable  attendant,  Bruno.  Her 
basket  was  soon  filled,  but  the  morning  was  so  beauti 
ful  she  could  not  think  of  returning  to  the  house ;  so 
she  placed  it,  as  she  supposed,  in  security  under  a  rose 
bush,  and  wandered  off  to  the  trees  that  skirted  the 
garden. 

Bruno,  with  the  propensity  of  some  bipeds  to  find 
what  is  not  lost,  took  it  into  his  head  to  carry  the  bask 
et  after  her,  as  he  had  sometimes  been  directed  to  do. 
Her  first  intimation  of  this  oinciousness  was  the  flowers 
scattered  to  right  and  left,  and  the  empty  basket  in  his 
mouth.  Catching  up  a  twig  she  was  about  to  chastise 
him,  but  this  only  provoked  him  to  retain  his  prize,  and 
a  contest  ensued,  in  which,  getting  the  better,  he  made 
off  with  his  booty.  Then,  after  many  feints  and  circuits, 
he  brought  it  back,  and  laid  it  and  himself  at  her  feet. 

At  this  moment  the  captain,  having  called,  and  being 
told  where  to  seek  her,  appeared.  Exercise  and  frolic 
had  heightened  her  color  and  excited  her  spirits.  She 
was  in  the  gayest  humor :  ripe  for  fun  and  sport. 

"  See !"  she  cried,  "  how  reverently  he  has  prostrated 
himself  before  me !  The  cunning  fellow !" 

"And  who  would  not  do  so!"  returned  the  captain, 
warmed  into  an  excess  of  admiration  as  he  gazed  at  her. 

Otherwise  occupied,  Eleanor  did  not  observe  the  com- 


148  WALTER  THORNLEY;  OR, 

pliment  conveyed;  and  the  dog,  as  merry  as  herself, 
keeping  his  paw  on  the  basket,  the  instant  she  extended 
her  hand  to  recover  it,  caught  it  up,  ready  for  another 
chase,  while  she,  stamping  her  foot,  exclaimed,  authori 
tatively,  "Let  go,  sir!  Have  done,  sir !  this  moment!" 

But  in  vain ;  he  was  off,  and  she  on  the  point  of  fol 
lowing  him,  when  the  captain,  seizing  her  hand,  de 
tained  her  while  he  poured  forth  a  passionate  declaration 
of  love. 

Eleanor  stood  in  mute  amazement.  She  compre 
hended  that  an  answer  was  expected,  but  what  must  it 
be?  She  understood  that  something  was  to  be  said  to 
save  the  captain  from  "dying  in  despair!"  something 
"  to  breathe  into  him  a  hope  that  would  render  life  en 
durable;"  that  would  hold  out  a  prospect  of  "ineffable 
felicity ;"  but  she  could  not  say  it.  On  the  other  hand, 
how  could  she  be  "cruel,  inexorable,  inflexible,"  as  he 
said,  to  so  kind  a  person  ? 

Encouraged  by  her  silence,  more  and  warmer  protest 
ations  assailed  her. 

Could  he  have  looked  within  the  deep  recess  of  the 
protecting  "scoop,"  so  inclined  that  his  eager  glance 
could  not  penetrate  it,  he  might  have  augured  different 
ly.  Surprise,  perplexity,  alarm,  were  passing  over  her 
face,  but  no  gentle  yielding.  Eather  through  all  was  to 
be  discovered  a  sense  of  the  ridiculous,  equally  unfriend 
ly  to  his  suit.  At  length,  finding  words,  she  exclaimed, 
"Oh,  don't  say  so!  pray  don't!"  words  met  by  reiter 
ated  vows  of  devotion  and  deprecations  of  her  cruelty. 

Overpowered  by  his  ardent  volubility,  and  anxious  to 
put  the  readiest  termination  to  what,  distressed  as  she 
was,  struck  her  as  excessively  absurd,  she  could  think 
only  of  the  stratagem  by  which  young  ladies  hold  them 
selves  at  liberty  to  evade  a  partner  in  a  less  momentous 
enterprise,  and  she  impulsively  exclaimed,  "Oh,  Cap- 


A   PEEP   AT   THE   PAST.  149 

tain  Talbot,  you  must  not  talk  so !  Indeed  I  am  not 
cruel !  But  I  can  not — I  really  can  not — lam  engaged!^ 

The  captain  dropped  her  hand  as  if  he  had  been  shot, 
and  she,  delighted  to  be  saved  any  farther  parley,  fled. 

"Engaged!  engaged!"  repeated  the  discomfited  lover. 
"  How  can  it  be !  Who  can  have  rifled  this  lovely  young 
creature  from  me !" 

Then,  revolving  every  one  he  had  met  at  the  house, 
and  finding  none  on  whom  his  suspicion  could  fasten, 
he  again  exclaimed,  "It  can  not  be — it  is  impossible ! 
But  she  might  have  met  the  favored  individual  else 
where  ;  must  have  done  so,  since  it  was  plain  her  family 
was  ignorant  of  the  matter." 

Pacing  to  and  fro  till  conjecture  was  exhausted,  he  at 
length  turned  his  steps  to  the  house  to  seek  her  parents, 
to  communicate  his  failure  and  the  cause,  to  deplore  his 
fate,  and  to  withdraw.  Their  consternation  far  exceed 
ed  his  own.  The  feelings  that  had  so  lately  disturbed 
them — Mr.  Meredith's  sympathy  for  his  friend,  Mrs.  Mer 
edith's  fears  for  her  daughter — were  forgotten  in  other 
and  stronger  emotions.  The  father  was  indignant  at  her 
duplicity ;  the  mother  grieved  at  the  want  of  confidence 
in  her  child ;  and  both  were  terrified  by  the  fearful  ques 
tion  of  "  to  whom  had  she  pledged  herself?"  The  only 
plausible  idea  was  young  Middleton.  This  was  far  from 
satisfactory ;  he  was  as  much  too  young  as  the  captain 
was  too  old.  A  mere  boy,  and,  as  Mr.  Meredith  consid 
ered,  characterless  and  unreliable.  But  it  might  be  much 
worse ;  after  such  deception  what  might  they  not  fear  ? 

The  first  thing  to  be  done  was  to  obtain  a  full  confes 
sion  from  Eleanor  herself.  Here  a  difficulty  arose  as  to 
which  should  require  it  of  her.  Mrs.  Meredith,  know 
ing  the  awe  in  which  she  stood  of  her  father,  feared  his 
severity  would  overwhelm  her ;  while  he,  on  his  part, 
saw  that  her  mother's  gentleness  would  be  farther  im- 


150  WALTER   THOKNLEY;    OR, 

posed  on  by  Eleanor.  It  was  at  length  decided  that 
Mrs.  Meredith  was  the  more  proper  of  the  two,  and  she 
was  about  to  leave  the  room  for  the  purpose,  with  a 
dread  of  what  might  ensue,  when  the  door  opened  and 
Walter  Thornley  entered.  It  was  the  time  that  had 
been  appointed  for  his  return,  but,  having  written  to  ob 
tain  a  longer  leave  of  absence,  he  was  not  expected. 

Sensible  people  sometimes  do  foolish  things.  So  Mr. 
and  Mrs.  Meredith,  mutually  distrustful,  gladly  caught, 
in  their  perplexity,  at  a  third  person  to  act  for  them, 
whose  position  and  discretion  seemed  at  the  moment  to 
settle  the  question  of  his  fitness. 

"  Oh,  Mr.  Thornley,"  they  both  exclaimed,  "  how  glad 
we  are  to  see  you !  You  are  the  very  person  we  want." 

Walter,  his  face  flushed  with  pleasure  at  the  sight  of 
his  friends,  his  eager  eye  seeking  his  absent  pupil,  re 
sponded  gratefully  to  a  reception  warmer  than  he  ex 
pected. 

"  The  illness  of  a  friend  I  feared  would  detain  me," 
said  Walter;  "but,  happily,  I  could  leave  him,  and  be 
here  as  I  had  promised.  I  hope  Miss  Eleanor  is  well  ?" 

After  what  seemed  rather  a  cold  reply  on  their  part, 
he  inquired  in  what  way  his  services  were  required. 
This  necessarily  introduced  the  subject  in  hand,  and,  re 
questing  him  to  be  seated,  Mr.  Meredith,  with  profes 
sional  accuracy,  stated  the  case,  beginning  at  the  begin 
ning,  and  carefully  detailing  the  approaches  of  the  cap 
tain,  the  pros  and  cons  of  himself  and  Mrs.  Meredith,  till, 
unable  to  imagine  what  might  be  coming,  Walter,  in 
painful  suspense,  awaited  the  conclusion.  At  length 
Mr.  Meredith  arrived  at  the  final  dismissal  of  the  captain, 
and  the  avowal  of  Eleanor,  which,  as  might  have  been 
expected,  shocked  her  conscientious  young  tutor  as  much 
as  her  parents.  He  said  nothing,  however,  but  his  sud 
den  paleness  evinced  his  sympathy  with  them,  and,  at- 


A   PEEP   AT   THE   PAST.  151 

tracting  the  notice  of  Mrs.  Meredith,  she  reproached  her 
self  for  her  inattention,  and  begged  him  "  to  take  some 
refreshment,  for  he  looked  dreadfully  fatigued."  But  he 
declined ;  and,  after  a  few  moments,  said,  "  You  spoke 
as  if  I  could  serve  you,  sir ;  in  what  way  can  I  do  so  ? 
You  can  not  mean  in  relation  to  Miss  Eleanor." 

"  Yes,  I  do.  Let  me  explain,  however,"  continued  Mr. 
Meredith,  his  habitual  formality  yielding,  in  spite  of  his 
endeavors  to  the  contrary,  to  emotions  of  pain  and  dis 
pleasure.  "Let  me  explain.  She  is  more  confidential 
with  you  than  with  us.  The  necessary  restraint  between 
parents  and  children  has  sometimes  a  bad  effect.  We 
should  alarm  and  repress ;  you  will  calm  and  encourage 
her.  And  let  me  take  this  opportunity,  Mr.  Thornley,  to 
say,  that,  in  giving  you  this  proof  of  our  confidence,  we 
only  properly  reward  your  remarkable  discretion  in  a  sit 
uation  calling  for  more  than  is  xisually  found.  I  have  ob 
served  you  closely,  as  I  was  bound  to  do,  where  the  inter 
est  of  an  only  child  was  at  stake ;  and  I  must  say,  that 
while  you  have  exacted  your  due  respect  as  her  teach 
er,  you  have  never  forgotten  your  relative  positions." 

A  cold  bow  on  the  part  of  Walter  acknowledged  this 
not  ambiguous  compliment.  He  was  not  insensible  to 
the  confidence  expressed,  nor  to  the  inferiority  implied. 

"We  are,  therefore,"  proceeded  Mr.  Meredith,  "glad 
to  depute  you  to  a  delicate  office,  for  which  you  are, 
perhaps,  better  fitted  than  ourselves." 

"  But  what,  sir,"  inquired  Walter,  anxious  to  termin 
ate  in  any  way  this  oppressive  interview,  "  what  can  / 
possibly  do?" 

"You  must  see  her  before  we  do;  must  obtain  from 
her  a  full  disclosure  of  every  thing — of  her  real  feel 
ings —  for  we  are  not  without  suspicion  that  she  may 
be  entangled  through  mere  thoughtlessness.  She  may 
even  be  glad  to  be  assisted  in  escaping  from  some  fool- 


152  WALTER  THORNLEY;  OR, 

ish  involvement,  which  she  would  sooner  expose  to  you 
than  to  us.  You  can  sift  this  more  calmly  than  we  can. 
If,  on  the  contrary,  her  affections  are  really  interested, 
you  are  at  liberty  to  assure  her  that  we  disregard  riches ; 
that,  if  the  connection  be  not  disgraceful,  in  other  words, 
if  the  person  is  her  equal  in  birth  and  position,  she  shall 
not  be  opposed,  provided,  at  the  same  time,  that  his  char 
acter  secures  her  happiness,  for  this  is  all  that  we  desire. 
It  is  best  not  to  delay,"  added  he,  as  Walter  sat  silent, 
troubled  and  irresolute;  "you  will  find  her  in  the 
study." 

With  an  effort  Walter  rose  to  obey;  a  beseeching 
look  from  Mrs.  Meredith  expressed  her  dependence  on 
him,  and  he  left  the  room  without  speaking. 

In  the  mean  time,  Eleanor,  having  escaped  from  her 
lover,  had  taken  refuge  in  her  favorite  retreat.  There, 
throwing  herself  on  a  sofa,  she  saw  only  the  good  joke 
she  had  practiced,  laughed  merrily,  and  then  burst  forth 
in  a  pleasant  old  Scotch  song,  which  struck  her  as  par 
ticularly  applicable  to  her  case : 

"The  blude-red  rose  at  Yule  may  blaw, 
The  simmer  lilies  bloom  in  snaw ; 
The  frost  may  freeze  the  deepest  sea, 
But  an  old  man  shall  never  daunton  me." 

As  the  song  passed  away  into  a  mere  murmur  of  the 
melody,  she  ceased  to  think  of  the  captain  at  all,  and 
turned  her  thoughts  to  a  more  agreeable  subject. 

"  What  a  pity,"  thought  she,  "  that  Mr.  Thornley  does 
not  come !  I  wonder  who  that  sick  friend  is  that  he 
stays  to  take  care  of.  Well,  it  is  very  good  of  him,  and 
all  right  too ;  but  that  is  nothing  new — he  always  does 
what  is  right.  But  when  he  does  come !  he  will  see  I 
have  not  been  idle.  I  have  read  all  the  history  he  di 
rected,  and  made  all  the  abstracts  he  advised ;  and  as  to 
chronology !  why,  like  an  Arab,  I  have  absolutely  lived 


A  PEEP  AT  THE  PAST.  153 

on  dates  !  and  I  have  really  attended  to  all  my  studies 
as  well  as  I  could  in  his  absence;  and  when  he  finds 
this  he  will  be  so  pleased!  and  I  shall  be  so  happy!" 
In  proof  of  which  she  clapped  her  hands,  the  sound  of 
which  still  rung  in  her  ears  as  the  door  opened  and  Mr. 
Thornley  entered. 

With  a  look  of  joyous  surprise  she  hastened  to  meet 
him,  exclaiming,  "  Mr.  Thornley !  when  did  you  come? 
You  are  welcome  back  again !" 

"You  are  very  kind — very  good,  Miss  Eleanor,"  he 
replied,  and,  unconsciously  retaining  the  hand  she  had 
extended,  he  led  her  again  to  the  sofa,  and  seated  him 
self  by  her  side. 

Pouring  forth  question  on  question  as  to  "what  he 
had  been  doing  all  this  long  time  ?  if  he  had  been  always 
reading  and  studying,  as  usual  ?  or  if  he  had  been  fish 
ing,  shooting,  and  rambling  in  the  beautiful  forests  he 
was  so  fond  of?" — to  all  which  he  answering  only  in 
grave  monosyllables,  she  suddenly  stopped,  and,  look 
ing  earnestly  and  inquiringly  in  his  face,  said,  "What 
is  the  matter,  Mr.  Thornley  ?" 

To  this  he  could  but  reply  in  that  unmeaning  "  Noth 
ing,"  which  so  often  belies  a  full  heart. 

"  Oh  yes  there  is,"  she  repeated ;  "  something  has  hap 
pened,  I  am  sure  of — your  friend — " 

"He  is  well." 

"  Yet  you  don't  look  happy.  You  are  disturbed,  per 
haps  displeased — but  not  displeased  with  me,  are  you, 
Mr.  Thornley  ?  Tell  me  if  you  are.  If  I  have  done 
any  thing  wrong  I  will  acknowledge  it.  You  know  I 
always  confess  to  you,"  added  she,  half  playfully ;  "but 
do,  do  speak,  and  don't  look  at  me  so !" 

She  might  well  indeed  deprecate  the  fixed  and  search 
ing  gaze  with  which,  while  still  holding  her  hand,  he 
regarded  her. 

G2 


154  WALTER  THORNLEY;    OR, 

"Confess!"  he  at  length  said;  "yes,  Miss  Eleanor, 
that  is  what  I  have  come  for,  but  not,  as  I  believe,  to 
hear  any  thing  'wrong;'  nor  am  I  so  presumptuous  as 
to  call  you  to  confession  without  authority.  I  come," 
said  he,  desperately  plunging  into  the  troubled  waters 
he  had  been  directed  to  sound,  "by  the  request  of  your 
parents.  They  speak  by  me." 

Eleanor,  regarding  him  in  surprise,  agitation,  and 
alarm,  could  say  nothing,  and  he  proceeded,  in  a  tender 
and  encouraging  tone : 

"  Your  parents  authorize  me  to  say  that  they  have  no 
wish  but  for  your  happiness.  All  they  ask  is  that  your 
affections  should  be  really  interested — that  no  transient 
fancy  should  mislead  you — "  Walter  paused. 

"What  do  you  mean,  Mr.  Thornley  ?"  said  Eleanor, 
with  a  happier,  but  still  a  bewildered  look. 

"  They  care  not,"  he  continued,  "  that  he  whom  you 
choose  should  be  rich,  provided  he  be  your  equal  and 
worthy  of  your  affection." 

"  Worthy !"  repeated  Eleanor,  heeding  only  that  con 
dition,  and  clasping  her  hands  with  a  look  more  ex 
pressive  than  words,  from  which  Walter  easily  inferred 
a  fond  confidence  in  some  one.  But  who  was  that  per 
son? 

With  a  less-assured  voice  he  proceeded : 

"  You  admit,  then,  Eleanor,  that  you  are  not  indiffer 
ent — that  an  impression  has  been  made — that  a  senti 
ment — that  your  heart  is  not  insensible.  Have,  then, 
no  farther  reserves,"  continued  he,  in  the  gentle  tones 
of  persuasion  ;  "I  ask  it  for  your  parents — for  yourself. 
I  even  presume  so  far  as  to  ask  it  for  myself.  Do  not 
withhold  from  me  this  assurance  of  your — " 

"Friendship"  he  would  have  said,  but  her  embarrass 
ment  and  agitation  appeared  contagious,  and  he  hesita 
ted.  If  her  imagination  supplied  a  more  tender  word, 


A   PEEP   AT  THE,  PAST.  155 

it  'was  not  strange ;  nor,  unconscious  as  she  had  thus  far 
been  of  the  sentiment  so  innocently  entertained,  was  it 
to  be  wondered  at  if  it  were  suddenly  revealed  to  her  by 
the  touchstone  now  applied. 

"  Oh,  Walter  1"  exclaimed  the  blushing  girl,  misled  by 
language  that  she  supposed  could  have  but  one  mean 
ing,  "  for  yourself!  How  can  I  withhold  any  thing  from 
you  !  You,  whom,  next  to  my  parents,  I  love  better  than 
any  one  in  the  whole  world!  Oh,"  continued  she,  cov 
ering  her  face  with  her  hands,  "you  must  know  what  I 
would  say  I" 

It  was,  indeed,  but  too  plain.  Astonished  and  con 
founded,  yet,  with  one  exquisite  thrill  of  joy,  he  darted 
from  her  side,  approached  the  window,  and,  resting  his 
head  on  his  hands,  leaned  against  the  casing  without 
having  uttered  a  word;  while  Eleanor,  starting  as  if 
from  a  dream,  and  terrified  at  this  strange  reception  of 
what  deserved  a  very  different  one,  repeated,  in  broken 
sentences  and  trembling  voice,  "  What  have  I  said  ? 
What  have  I  said  ?  Walter — Mr.  Thornley,  I  mean — 
tell  me  ;  what  have  I  said?" 

"  Dear,  innocent,  unconscious  Eleanor,"  exclaimed  he, 
in  great  emotion,  returning  to  his  seat,  and  taking  both 
her  hands  in  his,  "nothing!  You  have  said  nothing 
into  which  you  have  not  been  involuntarily  led  by  the 
misconceptions  of  others,  and  by  your  own  guileless,  af 
fectionate  heart !  Nothing,  Eleanor,  that  does  not  make 
you  dearer  to  me  than  ever !  Thus  much  I  owe  you ; 
more  I  dare  not,  must  not  say.  Honor,  gratitude,  un 
limited  confidence  reposed  in  me,  forbid  it.  There  has 
been  some  strange  mistake.  You  alone  can  explain  it." 

It  was  done  in  few  words,  but  often  interrupted  by 
the  confusion  and  distress  of  Eleanor,  by  her  self-accu 
sation  of  folly  and  stupidity.  The  explanation  given, 
a  few  moments  of  "thoughts  unutterable"  succeeded, 


156  WALTER  THORNLEY;  OR, 

Walter's  eyes  riveted  on  her  face  with  a  fondness  he 
dared  not  express,  she  almost  convulsed  with  contend 
ing  emotions. 

At  length,  rising  with  a  dignity  inspired  in  moments 
of  emergency,  and  often  where  it  seems  least  to  be  ex 
pected,  Eleanor  said,  though  with  an  uncertain  and  quiv 
ering  voice,  "  Mr.  Thornley,  I  have  but  one  request  to 
make,  forget  every  thing  I  have  been  so  foolish  as  to 
say;  remember  only  that  I  am,  and  shall  always  be, 
your  grateful  pupil."  Then,  turning  to  the  door,  she 
would  have  instantly  passed  it,  but,  detaining  her  with 
an  impulse  he  could  not  resist,  and  with  feelings  nearly 
overpowering  him,  he  ventured  only  to  say,  "  I  forget 
every  thing,  Eleanor,  but  yourself" 

The  next  moment  she  was  gone ;  but,  having  reached 
her  own  room,  tears,  long  suppressed,  burst  forth.  Pride 
and  mortification,  however  mingling  at  first  in  this  pas 
sionate  outpouring,  were  not  the  predominant  emotions. 
Generous  herself,  she  confided  in  the  generosity  of  oth 
ers.  She  believed  "Walter  superior  to  the  little  vanity 
of  a  triumph  over  her  weakness.  Moreover,  much  as  he 
had  struggled  to  conceal  it,  she  saw  the  reciprocal  senti 
ment  that  agitated  him,  and  she  loved  and  trusted  him 
the  more  for  his  forbearance.  The  violence  of  her  feel 
ings  abated  only  to  subside  into  grief  at  the  reflection 
that  of  one  so  noble  she  must  never  think.  For  when 
no  longer  deluded  by  ambiguous  expressions,  to  which 
excitement  and  affection  had  affixed  her  own  meaning, 
she  saw  but  too  plainly  that  her  parents,  whatever  might 
be  their  opinion  of  Walter,  would  never  favor  such  a 
union.  ISTor  was  it  less  certain  thtit  he  himself  so  con 
sidered  his  position  that  he  would  never  seek  it.  She 
could  now  understand  and  honor  his  hitherto  reserved 
deportment,  often,  as  she  had  thought,  unnecessarily  cold 
and  formal ;  intermingled  with  rare  but  delightful  flashes 


A   PEEP   AT   THE   PAST.  157 

of  interest  in  her,  which,  though  they  never  found  words, 
had  darted  from  his  eyes,  had  beamed  in  his  smile,  or 
had  touched  her  heart  in  some  unexpected  tender  tone ; 
manifestations  which,  however  guarded,  had  involun 
tarily  nourished  a  sentiment  the  innocent  girl  little  com 
prehended,  and  of  the  tendency  of  which  she  had  never 
thought. 

Nothing  now  remained  for  Eleanor  but  the  resolution 
to  render  herself  more  deserving  of  the  esteem  of  one 
whom  "  she  felt  quite  sure  she  must  always  love."  This, 
though  a  very  natural  conclusion  for  a  girl  of  sixteen,  is 
not  always  in  conformity  with  experience  in  such  cases. 
Nous  verrons. 


158  WALTER  THOBNLEY;  OR, 


CHAPTER  XY. 

WALTER,  left  alone  in  the  study — that  place  to  him 
so  consecrated,  where  he  had  first  known  his  own  power 
in  the  training  of  an  ingenuous  young  mind,  and  in  the 
harder  task  of  governing  his  own  under  influences  there 
first  felt,  the  scene  of  many  happy  hours  never  again  to 
return — yielded  without  restraint  to  his  emotion.  He 
perfectly  well  understood  that  the  confidence  reposed  in 
him  by  Mr.  and  Mrs.  Meredith,  whatever  might  be  his 
personal  claims,  was  greatly  assisted  by  what  they  con 
sidered  the  insuperable  barriers  between  him  and  their 
daughter,  a  confidence  confirmed  by  the  manner  he  had 
carefully  and  honestly  maintained  toward  her.  He  could 
not,  therefore,  for  an  instant  be  deluded  into  an  idea 
that  they  would  relax  a  single  prejudice  in  favor  of  what 
they  would  condemn  as  a  mesalliance.  "Besides,"  he  re 
flected,  "even  if  they  would  overlook  a  humble  origin, 
how  would  they,  how  must  they  repel  a  nameless,  un 
acknowledged — most  probably  base-born — son  of  a  fa 
ther  disgraced  perhaps  himself,  and  disgracing  others! 
No ;  it  was  impossible !  He  would  stifle  the  fondest  feel 
ing  of  his  heart  rather  than  subject  himself  to  the  indig 
nity  such  an  aspiration  would  be  sure  to  call  down  on 
him!" 

But  this  resolution  cost  him  pangs  never  before  known. 
The  conflict  was  not,  indeed,  new  to  him.  From  the  mo 
ment  he  had  felt  his  growing  interest  he  had  striven  to 
repress  it.  He  had  avoided  every  thing  that  might  be 
tray  it.  He  had  even  congratulated  himself  in  the  be 
lief  that  Eleanor's  open,  child-like  expression  of  regard 
for  him  was  proof  that  she  had  no  stronger  interest  in 


A   PEEP   AT  THE   PAST.  159 

him — a  belief  confirmed  by  her  apparent  liking  for  young 
Middleton.  He  had  even  voluntarily  torn  himself  away, 
and  had  reluctantly  promised  to  return,  only  in  the  hope 
that  absence  might  increase  his  self-control,  considering 
it  permitted  to  do  so  if  he  endangered  no  one  but  him 
self.  But  now  even  a  harder  battle  was  to  be  fought. 
He  had  not  to  conquer  vain  desires  for  an  unattainable 
good,  but  to  reject  it  when  perhaps  a  bold  hand  might 
secure  it.  He  who  had  never  known  love  from  woman's 
lips,  must  he  now  refuse  it  from  those  dearest  to  him  ?  He 
who  had  never  been  soothed  by  the  sympathy  of  moth 
er  or  sister,  must  he  now  reject  it  from  one  who  could 
give  more  even  than  these?  Must  he  turn  from  her 
who  had  been  the  fresh,  young,  innocent  Eve  of  his 
imagination, 

"Infusing 
Sweetness  into  his  heart  unfelt  before?" 

The  confession,  so  unlocked  for,  which  had  at  once  ag 
onized  and  delighted  him,  must  it  be  repulsed  and  cast 
away? 

For  the  first  time  utterly  unmanned,  he  buried  his  face 
in  the  cushion  of  the  sofa,  unconscious  that  he  wept,  till 
an  approaching  footstep  recalled  him  to  himself.  Start 
ing  up,  he  recollected  that  Mr.  Meredith  was  still  await 
ing  the  explanation  of  what  now  seemed  so  trivial  that 
it  was  nearly  forgotten,  and  he  hastened  to  communi 
cate  it. 

In  the  relief  thus  afforded,  Mr.  and  Mrs.  Meredith  soon 
forgave  the  pain  so  childishly  inflicted.  While  they  were 
congratulating  themselves,  Walter  was  left  to  reflect  on 
his  present  position,  and,  with  his  usual  promptitude,  to 
decide  what  was  best — best  for  himself,  best  for  Eleanor. 
He  must  go,  and  go  immediately.  His  first  thought  was 
to  take  no  leave,  to  depart  in  the  evening  without  ex 
planation.  This,  as  his  luggage  was  still  at  the  stage- 


160  WALTER  THORNLEY;  OR, 

house,  would  be  easy.  But  this  might  subject  him  to 
unjust  inferences.  It  might,  too,  in  some  way  compro 
mise  Eleanor.  He  determined,  therefore,  on  a  course 
which,  without  the  utterance  of  an  untruth,  would  ren 
der  his  departure,  if  unexpected,  not  mysterious.  His 
cogitations  were  interrupted  by  an  exclamation  from 
Mr.  Meredith. 

"Bless  me!  we  are  entirely  forgetting  every  thing 
else  in  our  own  affairs.  I  have  never  asked  after  my 
old  friend  Mr.  Grafton ;  tell  me,  is  he  well  ?  does  time 
make  much  impression  on  him?" 

"  So  little,"  replied  Walter,  "that  really  I  never  think 
of  it.  His  early  hours,  regular  habits,  and  quiet  pur 
suits  prevent  wear  and  tear." 

"I  suppose  so.  Yet  he  is  nearly  my  age — not  far 
from  fifty.  Poor  Grafton !  he  was  a  handsome  man 
once." 

Walter  thought  the  sigh  with  which  this  was  uttered 
uncalled  for,  and  replied,  "  He  is  so  still,  sir ;  and  no 
one  would  imagine  from  his  manners  or  appearance  that 
he  had  been  so  long  out  of  the  world." 

"  Ah !  indeed !  But  the  inborn,  inbred  gentleman  is 
a  strong  plant,  not  to  be  choked  by  the  vulgar  weeds 
that  may  start  up  around  it.  Well,  now,  to  matters 
nearer  home.  When  shall  lessons  begin  ?  Eleanor  has 
had  a  long  holiday,  and  will,  I  dare  say,  be  glad  to  re 
sume  them." 

This  was  the  moment  Walter  had  been  nerving  him 
self  to  meet. 

"  I  am  grieved  to  say,"  replied  he,  "  that  I  can  remain 
only  long  enough  to  say  farewell." 

"  Farewell !"  echoed  both  Mr.  and  Mrs.  Meredith  in 
the  same  breath;  "farewell!  what!  really  leave  us? 
and  why  ?" 

In  a  few  words  Walter  informed  them  that  he  was 


A   PEEP   AT   THE    PAST.  161 

compelled  to  do  so,  adding,  with  a  poor  attempt  at  a 
smile,  "  You  know,  sir,  if  we  can  not  control  circum 
stances,  they  must  control  us." 

His  manner  was  so  decided,  and  being,  at  the  same 
time,  as  calm  as  they  could  expect  under  what  he  did 
not  hesitate  to  confess  was  a  very  painful  separation, 
that  happily  the  idea  of  a  sudden  determination  did  not 
occur  to  them,  and  their  good-breeding  spared  all  inter 
rogations  as  to  reasons  which  he  did  not  voluntarily  of 
fer.  Mr.  Meredith  only  said,  with  much  earnestness, 
that,  if  pecuniary  considerations  influenced  him,  he  would 
make  any  additional  compensation  he  would  name.  He 
graciously  added  that  "  Eleanor  owed  more  to  his  in 
struction  than  to  all  she  had  ever  previously  received." 

This  generosity,  at  this  moment,  was  too  much  for 
Walter,  and  he  did  not  immediately  reply. 

"  You  are  too  kind,  sir,  too  kind,  to  attach  so  much 
value  to  my  small  services.  Believe  me,  money  should 
not  part  us.  I  have  always  been,  and  am  still,  perfect 
ly  satisfied  with  what  I  have  received." 

Mrs.  Meredith,  too,  with  much  cordiality,  expressed 
her  regret,  her  sense  of  the  benefit  conferred  on  Elea 
nor,  and  the  difficulty  of  replacing  his  ability  and  care. 

"Well,  if  you  must  leave  us,  Mr.  Thornley,"  said  Mr. 
Meredith,  "  we  will  not  consider  it  a  final  separation ; 
something  may  bring  us  together  again.  I  shall  always 
be  happy  to  serve  you  in  any  way  that  I  can,  and  to 
testify  to  your  faithfulness,  and  to  your  correct  and  be 
coming  behavior  in  my  family  during  nearly  an  entire 
year  that  you  have  lived  with  us." 

At  this  certificate  of  character,  much  the  same  as 
would  have  been  accorded  to  any  approved  domestic,  it 
must  be  confessed  Walter's  pride  rebelled.  The  color 
returned  to  his  cheek  from  which  emotion  had  driven 
it;  but  he  forgave  the  unintentional  insult.  At  that 


162  WALTER  THOHXLEY;  OK, 

moment  he  could  not  do  otherwise ;  yet  it  fixed,  as  with 
an  iron  grasp,  into  his  soul  the  conviction  of  the  scorn 
with  which  his  love  would  be  repulsed ;  and  he  blessed 
Heaven  that  he  had  not  been  so  weak  as  to  expose  him 
self  to  it.  He  only  by  a  bow  returned  his  acknowledg 
ments. 

"But  you  will  not  leave  ITS  immediately?" 

"  To-night,  sir,"  said  Walter,  with  a  resolution  for 
which  he  was  probably  indebted  to  Mr.  Meredith's  pro 
posed  "  recommendation."  "  I  shall  walk  into  town  in 
the  evening,  for,  having  no  luggage  to  transport,  I  shall 
not  need  to  put  your  horses  into  requisition." 

This  met  with  much  opposition,  and  it  was  not  with 
out  reiterated  assurances  that  he  really  preferred  it  that 
it  was  assented  to. 

"  I  don't  know  what  Eleanor  will  say  to  all  this,"  said 
Mrs.  Meredith,  kindly.  "  She  will  be  much  disappoint 
ed." 

"Walter  allowed  himself  no  reply,  except  that,  "  with 
the  progress  Miss  Eleanor  had  made,  she  would  require 
little  direction  in  future." 

But,  under  this  quiet  exterior,  how  did  his  heart  beat 
at  thought  of  the  parting  now  so  near !  The  striking 
of  the  clock  announced  the  approach  of  dinner,  and  he 
listened  with  a  sickened  feeling  for  her  footstep  on  the 
stairs.  But,  when  assembled  at  table,  instead  of  herself 
came  a  whispered  message  to  Mrs.  Meredith. 

"Eleanor  has  a  bad  headache,  my  dear,  and  begs  to 
be  excused." 

"A  headache!"  replied  her  husband,  "I  never  knew 
her  to  have  one  in  her  life.  What  has  she  been  doing?" 

"  Oh,"  said  Mrs.  Meredith,  innocently,  "you  know  she 
must  have  had  rather  an  exciting  scene  with  Captain 
Talbot  this  morning." 

"True,  true,"  replied  he,  laughing,  "and  'tis  but  a 


A   PEEP   AT   THE    PAST.  103 

fair  punishment  for  the  heartache  she  gave  him.  Be 
sides,  I  dare  say  she  is  rather  ashamed  to  appear  after 
such  a  silly  business ;  and  well  she  may  be. 

"But,"  added  he,  gravely,  "it  is  just  as  I  have  said; 
no  care,  no  restraint  keeps  young  people  in  order  in 
these  days.  Now  her  mother,  Mr.  Thornley,  would  no 
more  have  dared  so  to  trifle  with  a  gentleman  than  she 
would  have  presumed  to  laugh  in  the  king's  face.  I 
don't  know  what  we  are  coming  to !  No  respect  to  age, 
dignity,  nor  condition !  Young  people  think  they  may 
say,  think,  do  any  thing  they  please !" 

Mrs.  Meredith  took  advantage  of  the  first  pause  in  her 
husband's  outpouring  on  a  subject  that  always  excited 
him,  to  say,  "I  think,  Mr. Thornley,  I  will  not  tell  Ele 
anor  just  now  that  you  are  going.  She  will  sleep  off 
her  headache,  I  dare  say,  and  be  able  to  bid  you  good- 
by." 

Walter  blessed  the  headache  and  the  delay,  devoutly 
hoping  to  escape  without  putting  her  to  the  test  of  a 
farewell. 

In  the  afternoon,  to  conceal,  if  he  could  not  check,  the 
feeling  that  increased  as  the  final  hour  approached,  he 
strolled  off  into  the  woods  that  at  a  short  distance  screen 
ed  the  house,  and  yielded,  when  thus  in  security,  to  the 
thoughts  that  oppressed  him. 

The  past,  checkered  as  it  was  by  conflicts,  fears,  and 
doubts  peculiar  to  his  strange  position,  had  yet  had  one 
bright  light  thrown  athwart  it.  One  exquisite  delight 
had  been  granted  him.  He  had  known  what  it  was  to 
love  and  to  be  loved ;  and,  short  as  had  been  the  joy, 
and  compassed  with  obstructions,  it  had  repaid  him  for 
many  sorrows.  He  would  not  part  with  it  to  secure  im 
munity  from  all  earthly  ill.  But  the  future,  what  did 
that  offer?  A  hopeless  remembrance  of  one  by  whom, 
if  true  to  his  sense  of  right,  he  must  pray  to  be  forgotten. 


Forgotten  !  oh,  the  dreadful  import  of  that  word !  Even 
in  the  grave — cold,  insensible,  dissolving — we  can  not 
bear  it;  it  adds  the  keenest  pang  to  death.  Even  in 
heaven,  we  crave  to  be  remembered  on  earth!  What, 
then,  was  it  to  a  young  heart  throbbing  with  passions 
newly  awakened,  with  wants  that  would  not  be  denied, 
conscious  of  its  power  to  enjoy  and  to  create  happiness, 
of  its  own  inherent  right  to  it — what  was  it  to  such  a 
one  to  set  a  seal  on  the  fountain  of  bliss,  to  turn  away 
from  hope,  to  reject  love,  to  pray  to  be  forgotten  ?  Yet 
this  "Walter  felt  to  be  his  future. 

Long,  long  he  wandered;  revolving  every  circum 
stance  since  first  he  had  known  Eleanor.  At  one  mo 
ment  rebuking  his  own  coldness  as  cruel,  the  next  re 
joicing  in  it  as  their  only  safety.  Now  dwelling  on  her 
sweet  -unconsciousness,  her  ingenuous  confession,  her 
maidenly  dignity  when  aware  that  it  was  unsought; 
and  then  turning  to  the  present,  the  parting  moment. 

The  slanting  lights  that  streamed  beneath  the  branch 
es,  and  the  long  shadows  warned  him  to  return,  and, 
with  indescribable  dread,  he  bent  his  steps  toward  the 
house.  With  a  sad  longing  for  one  more  look  he  en 
tered  the  study  by  the  garden-door,  and  cast  a  glance  at 
every  familiar  object,  as  if  taking  the  superfluous  trouble 
of  fixing  them  indelibly  in  his  memory.  At  length  his 
eye  fell  on  the  study -table,  where,  among  scattered  books, 
lay  an  unopened  letter.  He  took  it  hastily  up,  the  first 
thought  being  that  it  was  a  farewell  from  Eleanor.  He 
turned  to  the  superscription.  It  was  directed  to  him 
self,  but  not  in  her  hand.  He  opened  it,  and  the  change 
in  his  countenance  sufficiently  indicated  the  revulsion 
in  his  feelings.  It  was  as  follows : 

11  Eash,  obstinate  young  man !  Again  you  have  per 
iled  yourself  and  those  who  ought  to  be  even  dearer  to 


A   PEEP   AT  THE   PAST.  165 

you.  Return  without  delay  to  the  security  provided  for 
you,  or  involve  yourself  in  consequences  you  will  for 
ever  repent.  Obey!" 

The  feelings  with  which  Walter  had  been  struggling 
for  hours,  now  taking  another  direction,  burst  forth  like 
a  tempest.  He  threw  the  letter  on  the  floor.  He  stamp 
ed  on  it.  He  caught  it  up,  and  was  about  to  tear  it  in 
pieces,  when  a  thought  seemed  to  check  him. 

"No !"  exclaimed  he,  "it  shall  remain  till  the  day  of 
reckoning  comes.  'Security  provided  for  me  !'  and  by 
whom  ?  Not  by  him  who  cast  me  a  beggar  on  the  char 
ity  of  strangers.  '  Obey !'  and  whom  ?  Not  him  whose 
forfeited  word  has  no  claim  on  me.  Oh,  that  I  could 
stay  here  and  brave  him !  that  honor  did  not  demand 
my  departure !  I  would  fearlessly  encounter  his  threats. 
Intolerable  !  that  by  going  I  shall  seem  to  act  in  obedi 
ence  to  commands  that  I  scorn  and  reject.  Oh,  that  I 
could  tell  him  to  his  teeth  that  I  am  not  his  slave  and 
puppet,  to  be  controlled  and  played  as  he  may  please ! 
I,  a  man,  competent  to  be  treated  like  a  reasonable  being, 
to  be  thus  addressed  like  a  boy  or  a  fool !" 

Ringing  the  bell,  he  inquired  of  the  servant  who  an 
swered  it  who  had  left  a  letter  for  him  ?  Nobody. 
Could  no  one  have  entered  without  his  knowledge? 
No,  he  had  been  occupied  in  or  near  the  hall.  But  the 
study?  Ah!  yes,  there  a  person  might  have  entered 
through  the  garden. 

The  servant  was  too  trusty  to  be  suspected  of  collu 
sion,  and  on  farther  inquiry  the  other  domestics  were 
equally  ignorant. 

The  tea-bell  at  this  moment  summoned  him,  and,  com 
pelled  to  leave  the  mystery  unexplained,  he  obeyed  it. 

Mrs.  Meredith,  with  considerate  kindness,  had  ordered 
an  earlier  tea  than  usual,  and  more  abundant,  in  prepa- 


166 

ration  for  his  long  walk ;  and  with  trembling  steps  he 
entered  the  room  where  she  sat  ready  to  receive  him, 
"  for  now  surely  he  must  meet  Eleanor !"  Seating  him 
self,  as  requested  by  Mrs.  Meredith,  he  reflected  that 
some  little  show  of  natural  feeling  would  be  allowed  on 
such  an  occasion,  and  thus  both  he  and  Eleanor  might 
escape  a  strict  construction.  Mrs.  Meredith  proceeded 
to  dispense  the  good  things  she  had  ordered,  though  to 
little  purpose ;  and,  after  lamenting  that  he  ate  nothing, 
said,  in  her  kindest  tone,  desirous  of  softening  the  dis 
appointment  to  him,  "  I  am  so  sorry,  Mr.  Thornley,  that 
you  can  not  see  Eleanor ;  she  is  really  quite  indisposed 
with  this  very  inopportune  headache,  and  begs  me  to 
bid  you  good-by  for  her." 

No  relief  could  have  been  greater. 

"She  understands  me,"  thought  "Walter ;  "she  for 
bears  to  add  to  my  distress  by  either  seeing  me  or  ques 
tioning  my  motives.  God  forever  bless  her." 

With  this  prayer  in  his  heart,  and  a  kind  farewell  to 
her  on  his  lips,  he  rose  to  take  leave,  and  was  soon  on 
his  way  to  the  city.  After  a  few  hours  of  troubled  sleep, 
at  three  o'clock  he  was  roused  by  the  driver's  thunder 
ing  rap  at  his  door,  and  a  lighted  candle  thrust  into  his 
room  to  assist  him  to  make  his  hasty  toilet. 


A  PEEP  AT  THE   PAST.  167 


CHAPTER  XYI. 

WALTER'S  unexpected  reappearance  at  Ashton  ex 
cited  no  small  sensation.  Mr.  Grafton  met  him  at  the 
door  with  a  look  of  alarm,  exclaiming,  "  Walter !  Has 
any  thing  happened ?  Our  friends!  are  they  well?" 

"  Quite  so,"  replied  Walter,  assuming  a  cheerfulness 
he  could  not  feel,  in  order  to  dissipate  the  uneasiness  he 
had  caused.  "  Quite  so,  and  myself  too,  or  I  shall  be 
as  soon  as  Damie  gives  me  one  of  her  good  country 
teas." 

While  Damie's  efforts  were  thus  directed,  Walter  en 
deavored  still  more  to  assure  Mr.  Grafton  by  talking 
with  unconcern  of  his  journey,  the  weather,  and  other 
ordinary  topics,  deferring  till  left  to  finish  the  evening 
without  interruption  such  explanation  as  he  felt  at  lib 
erty  to  give. 

As  soon  as  the  fitting  time  occurred,  "I  think,"  said 
he,  affectionately  taking  his  guardian's  hand,  "I  think, 
my  dear  sir,  that  I  have  never  had  a  secret  from  you, 
and,  moreover,  I  believe  you  have  never  distrusted  my 
word?" 

"Never,"  replied  Mr.  Grafton,  earnestly,  "never." 

"  Then  I  think  you  will  pardon  me  if  I  have  one 
now,  and  that  you  will  also  continue  to  trust  me." 

"  Yes,  without  the  least  question ;  yes." 

"I  thank  you,  sir.  So  far  I  can  satisfy  you,  that, 
though  I  have  left  Mr.  Meredith's  family  with  no  inten 
tion  of  returning,  my  so  doing  involves  no  one  in  the 
least  blame.  On  the  contrary,  could  I  think  it  right  to 
be  more  explicit,  I  know  you  would  approve  of  what  I 
have  done,  and  be  satisfied  with  all  concerned." 


168  WALTER  THORNLEY;  OR, 

"  This  shall  suffice,  Walter;  I  ask  no  more." 

Walter  pressed  his  hand,  and  they  were  both  silent. 
At  length,  opening  his  pocket-book,  Walter  drew  forth 
a  letter,  which  he  handed  to  Mr.  Grafton. 

"That,"  said  he,  "may  reconcile  you  to  the  step  I 
have  taken.  I  know  you  have  some  apprehensions  from 
that  quarter,  and  will  be  glad  that,  by  apparent  submis 
sion,  I  have  avoided  threatened  danger.  I  say  apparent, 
because  I  must  in  truth  tell  you  that  the  letter  had  noth 
ing  to  do  with  my  decision.  That  was  formed  before 
I  received  it." 

"  It  is  extraordinary !"  said  Mr.  Grafton,  after  reading 
and  returning  the  letter,  "most  extraordinary!  How 
did  this  letter  reach  you?" 

"  Like  every  thing  from  the  same  source.  I  found  it 
where  it  had  been  placed  for  me  in  my  absence.  How 
or  by  whom  I  could  not  discover." 

After  some  reflection  Mr.  Grafton  continued,  "I  do 
not  require  to  be  *  reconciled,'  as  you  say,  to  your  re 
turn  ;  but  this  does  diminish  any  regret  I  might  feel  as 
to  the  manner  of  it,  for  I  do  not  deny  that  I  am  often 
troubled  by  the  threats  that  you  are  so  willing  to  brave. 
You  then,  for  the  present,  will,  I  trust,  be  content  to 
remain  here.  Thank  Heaven,  we  can  be  happy  in  spite 
of  the  persecutions  by  which  you  are  followed." 

But  Mr.  Grafton  was  not  long  in  discovering  that 
Walter  was  not  happy.  The  manly  cheerfulness  worn 
at  first  to  relieve  his  friend  soon  disappeared,  and,  if  oc 
casionally  roused  to  something  like  his  natural  anima 
tion,  it  was  plainly  an  effort.  To  such  alternations  he 
had  been  subject,  but  there  was  now  an  air  of  dejec 
tion,  very  different  from  the  fitful  moods  of  previous 
years,  easily  explained  by  the  irritation  of  his  peculiar 
condition.  There  was  nothing  to  be  gained  by  ques 
tioning  him.  The  matter,  whatever  it  was,  was  decided. 


A   PEEP   AT   THE   PAST.  169 

There  was  no  perturbation,  no  apparent  conflict.  He 
occupied  himself  much  as  usual ;  was  kind  to  old  friends, 
and  more  than  ever  affectionate  to  Mr.  Grafton ;  but  a 
change  had  come  over  him,  the  light  of  hope  and  youth 
seemed  extinguished. 

Mr.  Grafton  observed  him  with  the  tenderest  solici 
tude  ;  and  one  evening  when  they  were  alone,  Walter 
dreamingly  gazing  at  a  beautiful  moon  that  sent  a  beam 
into  their  room  as  if  "  to  pleasure  them,"  he  approached, 
and,  laying  his  hand  on  his  shoulder,  said,  in  a  gentle, 
half-playful  tone,  "It  is  asserted  that  no  man  is  the  bet 
ter  for  the  experience  of  another;  that  each  must  find 
out  the  secret  of  life  for  himself.  Perhaps  this  is  so ; 
but  the  heart,  nevertheless,  often  longs  to  impart  what 
it  has  learned,  and  I — I  would — " 

His  voice  failed,  and,  turning  away,  he  left  the 
room.  The  next  night  Walter  found,  on  retiring  to 
his  room,  a  packet  containing  the  following  from  his 
guardian : 

"MY  DEAR  WALTER, — I  would  much  prefer  speech  to 
this  more  formal  mode  of  communication,  but  I  am  not 
equal  to  it.  It  is  not  easy,  indeed,  for  me  in  any  way 
to  enter  into  the  details  of  my  life ;  to  dwell  on  scenes 
that  years  have  not  obliterated.  I  shall  therefore  be  as 
brief  as  is  consistent  with  the  purpose  for  which  I  write. 
The  afflictions  and  disappointments  that  meet  us  in  ear 
ly  life,  from  their  very  strangeness,  are  apt  to  appear  to 
us  greater  in  our  individual  experience  than  any  one 
else  has  ever  known.  We  yield  ourselves  to  them  as 
if  spell-bound,  we  exaggerate  them  until  from  ministers 
of  wholesome  discipline  they  become  our  tyrants,  and 
our  whole  lives  not  unfrequently  are  discolored  by  them. 
But  I  will  leave  you  to  make  your  own  reflections  on 
what  I  have  to  communicate. 

H 


170  WALTER   THOKNLEY;    OK, 

"  You  know  me  only  as  I  have  been  associated 
with  yourself.  I  must,  therefore,  begin  at  the  begin 
ning. 

"I  am,  by  my  mother,  of  English  descent;  but,  as 
her  family  came  to  this  country  soon  after  her  birth,  she 
was  regarded  as  American  by  all  but  herself.  She,  on 
the  contrary,  cherished  an  attachment  to  her  native 
country,  and  never  lost  it,  not  even  when  she  married 
into  a  colonial  family  of  considerable  importance.  For 
my  misfortune,  both  my  parents  died  young,  leaving 
me,  their  only  child,  with  a  sufficient  but  not  large  patri 
mony.  In  conformity  with  the  wish  of 'my  mother,  I  vis 
ited  England  after  completing  my  education ;  and,  while 
there,  my  home  was  with  my  only  near  maternal  rela 
tive,  my  mother's  sister,  who  had  married  an  English 
man,  and  had  thus  been  replanted  into  the  native  soil. 
My  life  there  was  so  happy  that  I  can  not  recollect  a 
shadow,  except  a  regret  for  one  sweet  young  face,  which 
again  to  see  was  the  prevailing  wish  of  my  heart.  I  re 
turned,  and  found  it  even  more  lovely  than  my  fancy 
had  painted  it.  We  met  as  friends,  for  I  had  from  a 
youth  been  domesticated  in  her  father's  house.  From 
friends  we  became  lovers,  with  the  approval  of  her  pa 
rents,  and  with  every  circumstance  propitious  to  our 
union,  which  was  not  long  to  be  delayed. 

"But  a  dark  cloud  was  to  intervene.  The  discon 
tents  between  the  mother  country  and  her  colonies  gath 
ered  to  a  head.  To  angry  passions  succeeded  conflict. 
Blood  was  shed,  the  sword  drawn,  and,  at  length,  civil 
war  burst  forth. 

"  My  position  was  one  of  intense  anxiety.  With  my 
English  ties  and  my  mother's  blood,  it  seemed  nothing- 
short  of  parricidal  to  take  up  arms  with  the  colonists ;  in 
addition  to  which,  I  had  been  trained  in  so  loyal  a  spir 
it,  confirmed  by  my  happy  days  in  England,  that  my 


A   PEEP   AT   THE    PAST.  1  <  1 

prejudices  were  on  that  side.  Still  I  could  not  shut  my 
eyes  to  the  wrongs  of  my  countrymen,  and  their  right 
of  redress ;  and,  as  long  as  their  efforts  were  confined  to 
remonstrance  and  attempts  at  conciliation,  my  sympa 
thies  were  American.  But  independence  seemed  a  de 
lusion,  and  rebellion  was  abhorrent  to  me. 

' '  In  this  conflict  of  affections,  I  saw  nothing  but  to  leave 
myself,  for  a  time,  to  the  current  of  events,  continually 
hoping  that  our  difficulties  might  be  adjusted ;  and  that, 
if  not,  I  might  be  permitted  to  continue  neutral,  as  I  had 
thus  far  been.  But  alas !  the  storm  burst  on  me  from  a 
quarter  where  I  least  looked  for  it. 

"The  father  of  Mary,  the  possessor  of  a  large  landed 
property  conferred  on  his  ancestors  by  the  crown,  re 
nounced  his  allegiance,  at  the  peril  of  his  life  and  estate. 
Having  taken  this  step  he  could  not  brook  my  passive 
position.  Accustomed  to  be  obeyed,  he  required  me, 
young,  unimportant,  and  divided  as  I  was,  to  follow  his 
example  or  to  relinquish  his  daughter.  Mutual  friends 
endeavored  to  reduce  him  to  a  more  reasonable  temper, 
but  opposition  only  inflamed  him.  From  condemning 
my  conduct  he  passed  to  suspecting  my  motives,  and, 
finally,  insulted  me  by  a  charge  of  cowardice.  My  love 
to  Mary  had  but  one  measure.  She  was  dearer  to  me 
than  life,  but  not  than  honor.  To  have  yielded  to  his 
requisitions  even  to  obtain  her,  as  at  first  demanded,  I 
should  have  felt  to  be  a  disgrace ;  but  when  to  this  was 
added  insult,  to  comply  was  a  degree  of  baseness  for 
which  I  had  no  language.  Cowardice !  God  knows  how 
much  more  courage  was  required  to  renounce  my  alle 
giance  to  Mary  than  to  my  king ! 

"  Such  treatment  on  his  part  provoked  retort  on  mine. 
His  accusation  was  resented  in  terms  that  rendered  all 
farther  application  or  remonstrance  impossible.  One  al 
ternative  alone  occurred  to  me.  At  this  juncture  I  re- 


172  WALTER  THORNLEY;    OR, 

ceived  an  urgent  entreaty  from  my  aunt  in  England  to 
come  to  her.  She  was  left  a  widow,  with  an  embarrassed 
property,  and  she  had  no  friend  but  myself  who  could, 
or  who  would  assist  her  to  save  something  from  the 
wreck  for  herself  and  daughter.  I  could  not  refuse. 
I  determined  at  once  to  go,  but  my  heart  suggested, 
'why  not  take  Mary  too?'  if  I  could  overcome  her  re 
pugnance  to  a  clandestine  union.  This  was  a  fearful 
uncertainty,  but  I  caught  at  the  desperate  idea  as  all 
that  remained  to  me. 

' '  Circumstances  favored  me.  Her  parents  were  at  their 
residence  in  the  country ;  but  she  was  at  a  small  town 
at  the  distance  of  a  day's  journey  from  them,  with  some 
friends.  I  hastened  to  her ;  I  urged  my  plan,  and,  to  my 
delighted  surprise,  she  yielded  at  once.  By  nature  the 
gentlest  of  human  beings,  she  was  not  less  just.  She 
had  never  opposed  her  father  in  her  life ;  but  a  sense  of 
my  wrongs  inspired  her  with  a  courage  nothing  else 
could  have  done.  Every  thing  was  arranged.  The  place 
and  the  hour  for  the  ceremony  were  appointed ;  the  car 
riage,  a  few  paces  off,  awaited  her,  to  which  I  was  se 
cretly  to  conduct  her ;  and  my  feet  almost  at  the  thresh 
old,  when  intelligence  arrived  of  the  alarming  illness  of 
her  mother,  and  directions  for  her  immediate  return 
home.  I  entered  the  house  just  in  time  to  support  her, 
as  she  fell  nearly  fainting  in  my  arms. 

"  As  soon  as  shecould  speak  she  renounced  our  purpose. 
This  was  to  be  expected ;  but  to  my  entreaty  that,  though 
I  could  not  now  ask  her  to  accompany  me,  she  would 
consent  to  a  secret  marriage,  she  was  equally  inflexible. 
She  was  to  go  at  an  early  hour  the  next  morning,  and 
all  I  could  obtain  was  permission  to  see  her  once  again 
before  she  went.  Late  in  the  same  evening  we  met. 
What  a  meeting  I  what  a  parting !  Again  and  again  we 
renewed  our  protestations  of  love,  our  vows  of  fidelity, 


A  PEEP  AT  THE  PAST.  173 

our  determination  to  abide  resolutely  and  hopefully  the 
chances  that  might  yet  favor  our  union.  With  clasped 
hands  we  called  on  heaven  to  ratify  these  vows ;  and, 
placing  on  her  finger  the  marriage-ring  with  which  I  had 
prepared  myself,  in  expectation  of  the  ceremony  so  cru 
elly  interrupted,  I  called  her  by  the  sacred  name  of  wife! 
There  was  nothing  wanting  to  the  solemnity  of  our  com 
pact  but  the  few  prescribed  forms  and  the  presence  of 
witnesses.  In  place  of  these  were  the  sanctions  of  our 
prayers,  and,  as  we  doubted  not,  the  approval  of  God. 
"We  parted — she  to  the  death-bed  of  her  mother,  I  to  the 
ship  which  soon  bore  me  over  waters  far  less  troubled 
than  those  that  passed  over  my  soul. 

"  But  I  must  not  dwell  on  this.  I  had  many  difficulties 
to  encounter  in  the  settlement  of  my  aunt's  affairs,  but, 
finally,  the  comfort  of  greatly  aiding  her.  In  the  mean 
time  no  tidings  reached  me  from  America.  At  length 
they  came,  and  hope  departed.  Mary  arrived  in  time  to 
receive  her  mother's  blessing,  but  so  accompanied  as  to 
render  it  a  curse  to  me.  She  had  been  a  devoted  wife 
and  an  affectionate  mother,  with  one  fatal  mistake.  Mar 
ried  to  a  man  of  strong  will  and  vehement  passions,  she 
conceived  that  the  only  way  to  secure  domestic  happi 
ness  was  in  an  unreserved  submission  to  him.  This  she 
had  perfectly  practiced,  and  his  idolizing  affection  had 
rewarded  the  sacrifice  she  made.  Notwithstanding, 
therefore,  her  sympathy  with  us,  she  had  ventured  no 
opposition  to  him,  believing  such  to  be  the  best  way 
of  finally  obtaining  his  consent;  and  now,  as  a  last  in 
junction,  to  secure  her  daughter's  happiness,  as  well  as 
the  tranquillity  of  her  husband,  she  required  of  her  a 
solemn  promise  never  to  marry  me  but  with  his  appro 
bation.  How  could  she  refuse?  Her  mother's  life 
seemed  suspended  on  a  breath,  that  at  the  least  agitation 
might  cease  forever.  She  promised,  though  with  a 


174 

dreadful  foreboding  of  the  consequences.  This  was  the 
purport  of  the  first  letter  I  received. 

"I  instantly  wrote  to  a  mutual  friend,  inclosing  letters 
to  Mary  and  her  father.  To  herself  I  asserted  my  claim, 
registered  in  heaven ;  to  her  father  I  said  every  thing  I 
could,  consistent  with  honor.  My  letter  to  Mary  was 
never  answered — perhaps  never  received.  That  to  her 
father  was  returned  unopened. 

"In  the  state  of  mind  thus  induced,  my  health  suffered 
to  such  a  degree  that  a  milder  climate  was  imperatively 
prescribed.  I  obeyed,  rather  from  utter  indifference  to 
place  than  a  wish  for  life.  Though  writing  continually 
to  America,  I  received  no  letters.  At  length  one  reached 
me  at  Nice,  advising  me  to  return,  in  order  to  prevent 
the  confiscation  of  my  property,  which  might  be  averted 
if  I  were  actually  on  the  spot ;  but  if  not,  I  should  be 
classed  among  the  refugee  Tories.  As  I  was  not  such,  in 
fact,  and  as  my  property  might  be  of  use  to  others,  if 
little  valued  by  myself,  I  obeyed  the  suggestion  of  my 
friend.  On  my  arrival  I  made  one  more  effort  to  com 
municate  with  Mary.  Her  answer,  the  last  letter  I  ever 
received  from  her,  was  to  entreat  me  to  forget  her,  to 
consider  every  promise  that  bound  me  to  her  as  void, 
and  to  seek  in  another  union  a  compensation  for  the 
suffering  she  had  caused  me. 

"  My  property  was  saved  to  me,  much  more  through 
the  efforts  of  my  friends  than  my  own.  But  I  felt  my 
self  a  stranger  and  alone.  Those  I  had  left  had  formed 
other  interests,  based  on  mutual  dangers  and  political 
sympathies,  in  which  I  had  little  part.  With  nothing  to 
hope  or  to  enjoy,  I  fell  into  a  morbid  condition.  Yet,  I 
thank  God,  though  my  social  nature  was  disturbed,  it 
was  not  imbittered.  I  still  loved  my  kind,  and  enter 
tained  vague  purposes  of  doing  them  good.  But,  ex 
cluded  by  the  state  of  things  from  the  practice  of  my 


A  PEEP  AT  THE   PAST.  175 

profession — the  law,  to  which  I  had  been  bred — disgust 
ed  with  the  rivalry,  political  animosities,  and  jarring  el 
ements  that  war  excited,  I  fled  to  the  country ;  the  wild 
er  and  more  remote,  the  more  quiet  I  promised  myself. 
Accident  determined  me  to  Ashton.  I  had  been  pass 
ing  a  few  weeks  in  this  house,  when  I  found  that  its 
owner,  much  embarrassed  by  the  times,  wished  to  dis 
pose  of  it  as  the  only  means  of  extrication.  But  pur 
chasers  were  rare.  Every  one  was  poor  or  in  debt. 
He  offered  it  to  me,  and  I  took  it  at  his  own  price, 
mainly  to  relieve  him.  When  my  own,  however,  it 
began  to  have  attractions.  I  put  it  in  such  order  as 
was  necessary  for  comfort,  ordered  my  books — my  only 
friends — to  meet  me,  and  established  them  in  the  ac 
commodations  I  had  prepared  for  them.  Surrounded 
by  these,  undisturbed  by  the  outer  world,  at  peace  with 
my  neighbors,  a  sort  of  dull  content  crept  over  me,  un 
der  which  I  should  have  stagnated  but  for  you,  or  rush 
ed  in  search  of  some  more  potent  Lethe.  But  you  came 
unsought,  at  first  unwelcome,  and,  with  you,  an  object 
and  an  occupation  were  provided  for  me  by  Him  who 
was  better  to  me  than  I  deserved. 

"And  now,  my  dear  Walter,  will  you  extract  the 
moral,  or  must  I  point  it?  "Tis  best  that  I  should  do 
so,  lest  your  partiality  obscure  your  perception.  I  have, 
I  trust,  led  a  harmless  life ;  perhaps,  in  some  instances, 
as  in  your  own,  have  done  good  when  it  was  thrust 
upon  me.  But  I  look  back  with  contrition  to  my  wasted 
prime,  my  objectless  life,  my  idolatrous  worship  of  an 
idea.  I  do  not  mean  that  I  rebuke  myself  for  the  fidel 
ity,  the  pertinacity  of  my  affection.  I  was  made  so.  I 
could  love  but  once  and  forever.  And  I  declare  to  you, 
though  you  will  perhaps  deem  it  the  fond  confession  of 
an  old  man,  that  I  am  unconscious  at  this  moment  of 
any  diminution  of  my  early  love.  I  could  no  more  sep- 


176  WALTER  THOBNLEY;  OE, 

arate  Mary  from  my  heart  than  my  heart  from  my  body. 
Though  I  shall  no  more  see  her  face  on  earth,  the  hope 
of  meeting  her  in  the  heaven  to  which  she  belongs  is  the 
animating  thought  of  my  life.  But  this  hope  ought  soon 
er  to  have  taught  me  submission. 

"  Learn  thus  much  from  my  experience — to  allow  no 
passion,  however  right  in  itself,  to  become  inordinate. 
Be  resolute  for  yourself;  be  mindful  of  others.  We 
may  suffer  much  with  little  benefit ;  but '  what  we  do  is 
ours.'  I  would  not,  my  dear  "Walter,  impertinently  pry 
into  your  feelings ;  but  I  require  not  to  be  told  that  you 
are  unhappy,  and  I,  in  some  sort,  divine  the  cause.  Be 
true  to  your  convictions  of  duty,  and  you  will  regain 
your  tranquillity.  E.  Gr." 

Walter  dropped  his  head  on  his  hands  as  he  concluded, 
and  was  some  moments  absorbed  in  the  feelings  the  nar 
rative  had  excited. 

"Dear,  excellent  Mr.  Grafton !"  he  at  length  exclaim 
ed;  "how  strict  to  himself,  how  forbearing  to  others! 
Damie,  then,  was  right.  She,  with  her  simple  experi 
ence,  had  discovered  what  I,  in  my  happy  ignorance, 
could  not  believe.  And  Mary,  that  star  of  his  life,  has 
set  to  him,  to  rise  in  heaven.  Dead !  dead !  oh,  what  a 
word  to  connect  with  one  so  lovely  and  beloved !  Yes, 
I  will  be  strong,  if  only  to  reward  the  effort  he  has  made 
to'  make  me  so.  If  I  have  been  weak,  I  will  not  be 
worse."  And  he  tried  to  believe  he  was  not  selfish; 
that,  putting  aside  his  personal  interests,  he  desired  only 
the  progress  and  happiness  of  her  he  loved ;  that  he 
could  submit  to  the  impassable  barrier  that  separated 
them,  if  assured  that  one  so  gifted  might  not  fail  of  the 
fair  ideal  he  had  formed  for  her — if  certain  that  she 
would  not,  as  a  young  poet  of  our  own  time  has  said, 
be 


A  PEEP  AT  THE   PAST.  177 

"Swept 
Along  the  shallow  whirl  that  Folly  leads," 

and  "  harden  down  to  coarse  realities." 

Walter's  first  impulse  was  to  open  his  heart  to  his 
guardian,  but  delicacy  to  Eleanor  forbade.  His  manner, 
however,  when  next  they  met,  sufficiently  expressed  his 
gratitude,  and  the  consolation  of  increased  sympathy  was 
felt  by  both. 

His  next  care  was  to  satisfy  Mr.  Grafton  that  he  was 
not  so  purposeless  as  he  had  appeared.  He  could,  though 
not  with  all  the  advantage  desired,  pursue  at  Ashton  the 
course  of  legal  study  he  had  already  commenced,  during 
his  leisure  hours,  while  in  Mr.  Meredith's  family.  It  was 
something,  if  not  all  he  could  wish,  toward  the  end  he 
had  long  proposed  to  himself. 

Mr.  Grafton  received  the  suggestion  with  much  satis 
faction  ;  and  in  a  few  days  Walter  was  regularly  enter 
ed  as  a  clerk  in  the  office  of  Mr.  Barton,  a  lawyer  recent 
ly  established  in  Ashton,  and  occupying  the  place  of  his 
old  friend,  Squire  Whiting,  but  with  a  larger  practice. 

H2 


178  WALTER  THOKNLEY;  on. 


CHAPTER  XYII. 

ELEANOR'S  indisposition  had  been  no  pretense.  Even 
in  such  a  strait  she  could  not  have  resorted  to  an  un 
truth.  The  shock,  when  told  by  her  mother  of  Walter's 
immediate  departure,  was  softened  to  her  by  the  convic 
tion  of  his  honorable  motives  for  thus  withdrawing  him 
self,  and  by  the  delicacy  that  spared  suffering  and  embar 
rassment  to  herself.  But  though  she  considered  all  right 
that  he  should  do,  nature  could  not  be  so  passive.  Agi 
tation  and  distress  were  followed  by  a  sleepless  night; 
and  the  next  day  fever  appeared  sufficient  to  excite  the 
anxiety  of  her  parents,  though  pronounced  slight  by  her 
physician.  For  eight  or  ten  days  it  hung  about  her,  re 
ducing  her  color  and  flesh,  and  then  gradually  passed 
away ;  having  brought  with  it,  however,  a  compensation 
— it  had  saved  her  from  observation  when  she  could 
least  have  endured  it.  The  cause  remained  unsuspected. 
Her  intercourse  with  her  mother,  though  affectionate, 
was  not  familiar.  She  shrank,  therefore,  from  the  con 
fidence  which  she  at  the  same  time  desired,  and  was  rec 
onciled  to  the  omission  only  by  the  reflection  that  she 
could  not  make  disclosures  without  involving  Walter  in 
unjust  suspicions.  Fortunately,  while  thus  denying  her 
self  the  advice  of  her  best  friend,  she  had  no  dangerous 
intimacy  with  any  girl  of  her  own  age,  into  whose  sym 
pathetic  ear  she  could  pour  her  }roung  grief,  and  thereby 
strengthen  an  impression  she  felt  she  must  resist.  She 
was  left,  if  unaided,  at  least  not  ill-advised. 

Captain  Talbot  was  not  slow  in  renewing  his  visits. 
She  would  gladly  have  avoided  him.  He  recalled  all 
that  was  most  painful  to  her,  but  his  tact  soon  relieved 


A  PEEP  AT  THE   PAST.  179 

her.  Playfully  alluding  to  the  stratagem  by  which,  as 
he  said,  she  had  generously  softened  her  rejection,  he 
next  contrived  so  to  treat  the  matter  as  to  leave  her 
quite  in  doubt  whether  he,  too,  had  not  been  practicing 
on  her  credulity ;  thus  giving  to  the  whole  affair  so  much 
the  air  of  a  jest,  that  she  involuntarily  fell  back  into  her 
former  natural  and  unsuspecting  feeling  toward  him; 
and  he,  resuming  his  unrestrained  intercourse  with  the 
family,  was  able  to  avail  himself,  without  alarming  her, 
of  every  opportunity  of  rendering  himself  acceptable, 
hoping  in  time  to  become  necessary. 

Perhaps  a  change  in  herself  contributed  to  encourage 
him.  From  a  thoughtless,  laughing  girl,  little  more  than 
a  child,  every  way  unsuited  to  him,  she  seemed  to  have 
started  into  reflecting  womanhood,  capable,  as  he  hoped, 
of  better  understanding,  perhaps  of  sympathizing  with 
his  maturer  years. 

Eleanor  had,  indeed,  grown  much  older  in  a  few 
weeks. 

"Even  in  a  single  day 
Grief  hath  been  known  to  turn  the  young  head  gray." 

And,  in  like  manner,  the  youthful  mind  is  sometimes 
suddenly  matured  by  that  which  stirs  it  deeply.  Ele 
anor  had  now  a  study  that  reacted  immediately  on  her 
self.  The  contemplation  of  Walter's  character  ripened 
and  confirmed  her  own.  Instead  of  a  girlish  passion, 
the  sentiment  she  had  conceived  for  him  became  a  seri 
ous,  earnest  motive — his  self-control,  his  honorable  ad 
herence  to  duty,  rgjising  her  latent  energies  and  correct 
ing  the  heedless  impulses  by  which  she  had  heretofore 
been  influenced. 

A  fortunate  change  was  at  this  time  provided  for  her, 
and  renders  some  family  details  necessary. 

The  father  of  Mrs.  Meredith,  Mr.  Lawrence,  a  man  of 
large  fortune,  with  many  good  qualities  somewhat  mar- 


180  WALTER   THOKKLEY;    OR, 

red  by  strong  peculiarities,  had  been  of  late  years  es 
tranged  from  her  husband,  and,  as  a  consequence,  there 
had  been  a  suspension  of  intercourse  between  their  fam 
ilies.  The  two  gentlemen,  very  unlike,  had  unhappily 
embraced  different  sides  in  the  political  questions  that 
agitated  the  country ;  and  this,  together  with  some  do 
mestic  matters,  had  engendered  a  coolness,  amounting 
at  length  to  an  entire  rupture.  Most  unexpectedly, 
therefore,  a  letter  arrived  from  Mr.  Lawrence,  addressed 
to  his  daughter,  inviting  a  visit  from  Eleanor,  whom  he 
had  not  seen  for  several  years.  As  a  reason  for  her 
coming  was  urged  the  desire  of  her  aunt  Gertrude,  a 
younger  and  unmarried  sister  of  Mrs.  Meredith,  who 
lived  with  her  father  at  his  patrimonial  residence  on  the 
North  Kiver,  at  what  was  then  considered  no  small  dis 
tance  from  the  city. 

Such  an  invitation  from  Mr.  Lawrence  was  not  to  be 
slighted,  even  though  pressed  rather  stiffly,  more  for 
Miss  Gertrude's  pleasure  than  his  own.  To  Mr.  and 
Mrs.  Meredith  it  indicated  a  return  of  kindly  feelings, 
and  to  Eleanor  it  offered  just  what  they  thought  most 
likely  to  restore  her  health  and  cheerfulness.  For  the 
present,  then,  all  plans  for  tutors  and  teaching  were  laid 
aside,  and  nothing  thought  of  but  the  best  way  to  effect 
the  proposed  visit.  As  the  invitation  was  limited  to 
Eleanor,  Mr.  and  Mrs.  Meredith  were  too  wise  to  accom 
pany  her ;  and  it  was  decided  to  consign  her  to  the  care 
of  Mammy  Jenny,  a  negro  woman  who  had  lived  with 
Mrs.  Lawrence  ever  since  her  manage,  had  been  the 
guardian  of  her  nursery,  and  was  now  a  factotum  resort 
ed  to  on  every  emergency.  The  next  thing  was  to  as 
certain  when  Captain  "Van  Allers,  commanding  one  of 
the  three  sloops  that  belonged  to  a  small  town  near  Mr. 
Lawrence,  would  be  returning.  Much  to  the  satisfac 
tion  of  all  parties,  he  was  found  to  be  actually  at 


A  PEEP  AT  THE  PAST.  181 

ties  Slip,  and  might,  extraordinaries  excepted,  be  expect 
ed  to  sail  in  three  or  four  days.  Such  unlooked-for  fa 
cilities  augured  well  for  the  expedition ;  and,  the  "  after 
cabin"  being  engaged,  a  huge  basket  of  provisions  was 
made  ready.  Cold  roast  chickens,  ham,  pastry,  eggs, 
tea,  coffee,  cakes,  bread,  butter,  etc.,  it  being  understood 
that  the  captain's  table  in  the  "  forward  cabin"  would 
not  be  the  thing  for  a  young  lady ;  and  the  length  of  the 
voyage  was  uncertain — it  might  be  a  week,  or  even 
more ;  people  had  been  known  to  be  ten,  even  twelve 
days  between  New  York  and  Albany. 

At  length  the  sailing  day  came,  and,  intrusted  to  the 
faithful  Mammy  Jenny,  and  with  every  assurance  from 
the  long-known  and  reliable  Captain  Van  Allers,  she  was 
left  on  board  the  "Fair  Polly"  in  the  evening  of  a  fine 
day,  and  with  every  prospect  of  a  pleasant  trip.  But  the 
light  wind  in  their  favor  "went  down  with  the  sun," 
and  was  succeeded  by  one  so  decidedly  adverse  that 
they  were  soon  compelled  to  "  drop  anchor."  To  sail 
ors  so  inexperienced  as  Eleanor  and  her  attendant,  their 
situation  soon  became  fearful,  aggravated  as  it  was  by 
the  intense  darkness  and  the  increasing  gale.  To  the 
uproar  of  the  wind  succeeded  new  and  strange  sounds. 
The  vessel  appeared  in  commotion.  There  were  feet 
hurrying  to  and  fro,  confused  voices,  rattling  of  ropes, 
lowering  of  the  boat,  and  haste,  if  not  alarm.  No  one 
entered,  and  at  length  Mammy  Jenny  ventured  forth  to 
inquire. 

She  soon  returned,  accompanied  by  the  captain.  "No 
accident  to  themselves,  but  a  sloop  was  capsized  near 
them,"  as  he  said,  "  owing  to  the  folly  of  a  raw  captain 
and  an  obstinate  helmsman.  They  had  been  such  dun 
derheads  as  to  tack  with  a  wind  'dead  ahead,'  and  'no 
ballast ;'  and  they  were  now  where  they  ought  to  be, 
'  on  their  beam-ends.' "  The  few  passengers  had  gone 


182  WALTER  THORNLEY;    OR, 

ashore,  except  a  "lady,"  who  had  come  on  board  the 
"  Fair  Polly,"  and  for  whom  the  captain  requested  ac 
commodation  in  the  after  cabin. 

This,  under  the  circumstances,  could  not  be  refused ; 
and,  just  as  Eleanor  had  compassionately  assented,  she 
was  startled  by  the  entrance  of  a  singularly-attired  and 
vulgar-looking  woman,  with  her  arms  full  of  boxes  and 
parcels.  Mammy  Jenny  cast  a  dubious  eye  on  the  in 
truder,  but  Eleanor  kindly  helped  to  accommodate  her 
numerous  packages. 

She  soon  made  herself  known — a  New  England  wom 
an,  who,  with  the  enterprise  of  her  people,  had  establish 
ed  herself  as  a  milliner  at  one  of  the  "  landings,"  and 
who  was  now  returning  from  New  York  with  an  assort 
ment  of  articles  in  her  line. 

At  this  time  the  great  Yankee  nation  was  slowly  in 
sinuating  itself  within  the  boundaries  of  their  Dutch 
neighbors,  who,  with  much  the  same  enlarged  policy  as 
induced  their  countrymen  to  burn  their  spice-groves  in 
India,  regarded  the  interlopers  with  distrust  and  jeal 
ousy.  Even  among  those  who  ought  to  have  known 
better,  the  prejudice  often  had  its  weight,  and  "Yankee," 
with  many,  was  but  another  name  for  roguery,  vulgar 
ity,  and  conceit. 

But,  in  spite  of  ill-will  and  misconstruction,  they  came 
and  conquered.  Not,  indeed,  in  the  manner  of  their 
progenitors,  the  sea-kings  of  old,  in  their  descents  on 
the  too-confiding  Britons,  but  with  arms  quite  as  effect 
ive — their  heads  and  hands.  There  was  "  no  device  nor 
knowledge"  in  which  they  did  not  excel,  no  invention 
nor  handicraft  which  they  did  not  originate  or  success 
fully  apply,  until  they  "entered  into  the  land  to  pos 
sess  it.'"' 

The  young  woman  now  introduced  into  Eleanor's  ex 
clusive  cabin  was  no  bad  specimen  of  the  driving  and 


A  PEEP  AT  THE   PAST.  183 

thriving  ingenuity  by  which  her  people,  however  dis 
liked,  were  making  themselves  known  and  necessary. 
She  had,  like  the  rest,  evidently  inserted  an  "entering 
wedge,"  and  felt  all  the  importance  which  belongs  to 
persons  of  her  occupation  in  a  village  where,  as  usual, 
women  were  the  majority.  The  accident  furnished  a 
theme  for  her  accustomed  loquacity,  and  she  did  not 
long  restrain  the  wrath  and  disgust  it  excited. 

"  A  pretty  mess  they'd  make  on't.  Never  heard  of 
such  doings  in  Nantucket.  Tried,  be  sure,  to  excuse  it 
— putten'  it  on  the  new  sloop,  and  the  stiff,  onhandy 
riggirt' !  Guess  they  had  as  many  new  sloops  at  Nan- 
tucket  as  at  Ked  Hook.  Never  heard  afore  that  any 
craft  was  better  for  bein'  old!  Spilin'  people's  goods 
and  disapp'intin'  customers!  Dare  say  this  'ere  hat," 
taking  off,  as  she  spoke,  a  remarkably  inappropriate  one 
of  white  satin  trimmed  with  a  profusion  of  ribbon, 
flowers,  and  feathers,  "  dare  say  it's  all  beat  in  with  that 
knock  I  got  on  my  head.  Yes,  jest  so,  all  poked  in ; 
but  I  guess  I  can  fix  it  somehow.  Well !  how  they  did 
pull  me  out  of  them  cabin  windows  into  the  boat — me 
and  my  things ;  for  I  wouldn't  stir  without  them,  I  tell 
you." 

Eleanor  listened  in  mute  astonishment  to  this  entirely 
new  sample  of  womankind ;  and  Mammy  Jenny,  who 
had  risen  respectfully  on  her  entrance,  reseated  herself, 
with  an  instinctive  conviction  that  she  was  not  entitled 
to  any  such  demonstration.  But  the  new-comer  pro 
ceeded  to  adjust  herself  in  her  quarters  as  if  they  were 
entirely  her  own ;  and,  after  giving  sundry  twists  and 
turns  to  the  misused  hat,  pronounced  it  "none  the 
worse."  Then,  pinning  it  up  to  a  nail  in  the  cabin,  she 
covered  it  with  a  handkerchief,  and  said,  complacently, 
"  There !  if  that  isn't  a  first-rate  bride's  hat,  I  should  like 
to  know  where  you'd  find  one.  I  guess  Catliny  Van 


184  WALTER  THORNLEY;  OB, 

Zandt  will  be  pleased  enough,  to  eat  it.  Sweetheart, 
bride,  minister,  company,  weddin'-cake,  and  dress,  all 
ready,  only  waitin'  for  me  and  this  'ere  hat.  I  wore  it, 
you  see,  jest  to  keep  it  in  shape — rather  unlucky,  con 
sidering"  with  a  smile;  "but  who'd  ever  have  thought 
of  bein'  upset?  'Tis  a  nice  pattern,  too,  and  I  sha'n't 
turn  my  back  on  any  one  for  copy  in'  after  it." 

Eleanor  thought  she  should  little  relish  such  a  han 
selling  of  her  wedding-hat. 

About  midnight  a  bustling  movement  announced  a 
change.  The  wind  had  veered  so  many  points  that 
preparations  were  making  for  tacking,  and  then  began 
the  horrors  of  the  voyage.  The  misery  of  sea-sickness 
has  been  too  often  felt  to  need  any  special  notice  here, 
but  if  it  be  doubted  that  it  could  be  experienced  in  any 
great  degree  under  such  circumstances,  let  those  who 
have  known  our  sloop  navigation  answer. 

Eleanor  could  not  raise  her  head;  Mammy  Jenny 
turned  despairing  and  helpless  looks  toward  her  "  young 
missis ;"  the  milliner's  powers  of  speech  were  limited  to 
scarce  articulate  lamentations,  and  the  wedding-hat,  toss 
ed  from  its  moorings  on  the  wall,  fell  to  the  floor  without 
a  hand  raised  to  its  rescue. 

"If  it  goes  to  Jericho,"  exclaimed  its  disconsolate 
owner,  "/can't  stop  it." 

Toward  midday  the  wind  lulled  into  nearly  a  calm, 
and,  with  relief,  came  thoughts  of  food.  Mammy  Jenny 
bestirred  herself  to  prepare  it,  and,  companionship  in 
misery  removing  barriers,  she  suggested  to  Eleanor  to 
offer  some  to  "  the  milliner  woman,"  who  did  not  appear 
provided  with  any  private  comforts  of  that  sort.  It  was 
gladly  accepted,  and,  as  excitement  naturally  follows  re 
lief,  she  repaid  their  kindness  in  volubility. 

"Hadn't  she  heard  of  Mr.  Lawrence!  Yes,  indeed. 
The  richest  man  in  the  country  round,  and,  by  all  ac- 


A   PEEP   AT  THE   PAST.  185 

counts,  the  proudest.  Proud  as  Nebuchadnezzar,  and  a 
perfect  tyrant !  But  then  his  daughter  was  a  saint,  and 
*  Master  Phil,'  as  they  called  him,  the  greatest  shot  in  all 
these  parts.  A  likely  young  man,  too,  they  said — not 
near  so  overbearin'  as  his  grandfather."  And  so  on,  to 
the  great  indignation  of  Mammy  Jenny,  who  wondered 
at  her  "  imperrence !"  and  not  a  little  to  the  alarm  of 
Eleanor,  who,  accustomed  to  hear  her  grandfather  spoken 
of  only  with  respect,  was  quite  unprepared  for  this  view 
of  his  character. 

What  wind  there  was  now  favored  them,  but  their 
progress  was  slow,  with  the  prospect  of  anchoring  again 
at  ebb  tide.  Novelty,  however,  had  its  charm,  and  Ele 
anor  rejoiced  in  the  opportunity  thus  afforded  of  better 
seeing  the  objects  presented  to  her.  Seated  on  deck,  or 
walking,  her  faithful  attendant  always  at  hand  to  warn 
her  of  the  shifting  boom  or  a  rope  that  might  entrap 
her,  she  surrendered  herself  to  this  new  experience,  now 
directing  her  gaze  to  the  varying  shore,  now  watching 
the  working  of  the  sloop ;  then  leaning  over  the  stern  to 
amuse  herself  with  the  apparent  efforts  of  the  little  boat 
behind  to  keep  up  with  them,  and  then  measuring  with 
her  eye  the  wake  of  its  keel.  The  river,  clear,  unruf 
fled,  majestic  in  its  serenity  as  in  size,  widening  into  in 
land  seas,  and  then  insinuating  itself  between  the  ap 
proaching  and  apparently  interlocking  shores,  mocking 
the  eye  with  the  semblance  of  a  lake,  its  bold  headlands, 
its  far -stretching  points,  its  margin  now  rising  into 
mountains,  now  descending  in  grassy  slopes,  furnished 
her  incessant  variety  and  delight. 

The  captain,  pleased  with  her  inquiries,  readily  an 
swered  them.  Dunderberg,  at  the  entrance  of  High 
land  Pass,  where  geologists  tell  us  the  labor  of  Hercules 
was  repeated,  and  a  channel,  through  sixteen  miles  of 
solid  rock,  furnished  to  the  imprisoned  waters  above ; 


186  WALTER   THORNLEY;    OR, 

West  Point,  saddened  even  to  his  enemies  by  the  mem 
ory  of  the  unfortunate  Andre ;  Anthony's  Nose,  then 
perfect,  but  since  snubbed  by  modern  improvement; 
Sugar  Loaf  and  Turk's  Face,  were  pointed  out  to  her  by 
the  captain  with  the  pride  of  a  river  skipper.  So  on 
they  rather  floated  than  sailed,  the  day  genial,  the  skies 
beautiful,  till  they  emerged  from  the  strait  at  Newburgh. 
Here,  as  the  wind  had  failed  altogether,  and  the  tide 
was  against  them,  they  cast  anchor  in  face  of  the  Grand 
Sachem,  the  river  again  expanding  before  them,  and  its 
course  traceable  for  many  miles,  studded  with  sloops 
and  schooners,  which,  like  themselves,  had  left  the  wind 
caged  in  the  Highland  recesses  in  their  rear. 

Over  all  were  beauty  and  tranquillity.  Then  were  no 
steam-boats,  terrifying  the  ignorant  Dutch  negroes  with 
the  belief  of  the  coming  of  the  Evil  One  in  a  car  driven 
on  the  water  by  a  dragon  vomiting  smoke  and  flame. 
Nor  was  unhappy  Echo  then  compelled  to  repeat  the 
shriek  of  a  locomotive  as  it  rushed  through  rocks,  leap 
ed  over  creeks,  dived  into  mountain  depths,  dashed 
through  the  humble  garden  of  the  cottager,  or  rudely 
invaded  aristocratic  parks.  The  march  of  improvement 
had  not  begun. 

Another  night  succeeded,  with  little  progress;  but 
toward  morning  a  favorable  breeze  sprung  up,  and 
every  one  was  astir.  Eleanor,  having  breakfasted,  re 
sumed  her  station  on  deck.  All  sails  were  set,  the 
waves  raced  after  them,  and  the  little  boat  in  the  rear 
bounded,  as  if  endowed  with  life,  over  the  foam  that 
crested  its  tiny  prow.  Eleanor  caught  the  spirit  of  the 
change,  and  laughed  aloud  from  the  excitement. 

The  Catskills,  which  the  day  before  had  but  dimly 
blended  with  the  far  horizon,  now  came  forth  blue  and 
distinct,  but  with  ever- vary  ing  tints  as  their  fleecy  dra 
peries  waved  about  them.  If  they  were,  as  has  been 


A  PEEP  AT  THE   PAST.  187 

fabled,  a  treasure-house  of  storms  and  sunshine,  they 
now  only  let  out  the  last,  and  appeared  to  Eleanor  a 
lovely  cloud-land,  where  only  good  and  beneficent 
spirits  dwelt.  And,  if  legends  may  be  believed,  they 
had  vindicated  their  claim  to  be  thus  considered  by  de 
feating  all  attempts  to  extract  from  the  mountains  com 
mitted  to  their  guardianship  the  root  of  all  evil — gold 
and  silver. 

Borne  along,  like  Psyche,  by  the  zephyrs,  Eleanor, 
late  in  the  afternoon  of  the  third  day — a  remarkably 
short  passage — was  requested  to  look  at  a  certain  "  land 
ing,"  near  which,  on  a  bank  that  overhung  it,  was  the 
residence  of  her  grandfather,  but  so  embowered  in  trees 
that  it  was  not  discernible  at  her  then  distance.  They 
approached  the  dock,  and,  as  Eleanor  and  the  old  nurse 
disembarked,  a  troop  of  little  colored  children,  evident 
ly  on  the  look-out  for  them,  collected,  with  a  courtesy 
to  "young  missis,"  and  a  hearty  welcome  to  Mammy 
Jenny.  Others,  as  soon  as  the  sloop  gave  signs  of  near- 
ing  the  dock,  had  started  off  on  a  brisk  trot  up  a  precip 
itous  ascent,  tumbling  each  other  over  in  their  haste 
to  be  the  first  to  announce  the  arrival. 

By  the  time  that  every  thing  was  landed,  was  seen 
descending  by  a  winding  road,  through  a  fine  wood,  a 
carriage,  into  which,  with  many  bows  from  the  gray- 
headed  colored  coachman,  Eleanor,  her  attendant,  and 
her  luggage  were  bestowed;  and,  while  it  is  pursuing 
the  long  and  circuitous  ascent  of  the  carriage-drive,  it 
may  be  well  to  introduce  both  master  and  mansion  more 
particularly  to  the  reader. 

The  house  had  been  built  by  Mr.  Lawrence's  father 
for  the  reception  of  his  bride.  With  the  uxoriousness 
that  marked  a  family  of  whom  a  witty  friend  had  said 
that  "if  a  Lawrence  married  a  broomstick  he  would 
love  it,"  every  thing  had  been  done  to  honor  his  young 


188  AVALTER  THORNLEY;    OR, 

wife.  Her  family  having  originally  come  from  Guel- 
derland,  he  fondly  called  her  his  "  Guelder  Eose;"  and, 
with  the  same  feeling,  he  gave  to  their  new  residence 
the  name  of  "Kosenberg" — Anglice,  u Hose-hill;"  to 
render  which  the  more  appropriate,  the  grounds  were 
ornamented  by  roses  of  every  hue  and  name  then  known. 
The  memory  of  these  was  still  preserved  in  their  vigor 
ous  offshoots. 

The  house  was  constructed  of  brick  brought  from 
Holland.  The  year  of  its  erection,  inserted  in  the  fa- 
gade  in  large  iron  characters,  announced  a  respectable 
antiquity  for  a  colonial  residence.  Two  crow-stepped 
gables,  one  with  a  finial  and  weather-cock,  presented 
themselves  as  the  front  entrance,  while  every  imagina 
ble  variety  of  outline  prepared  the  observer  for  its  inte 
rior  irregularities.  Windows  of  every  size,  without 
symmetry  in  form  or  relation  to  each  other,  were  thrust 
through  its  walls,  with  here  and  there  little  projections, 
neither  dormer  nor  oriel,  adding  to  its  grotesque  yet  not 
unpicturesque  architecture.  On  entering,  a  hall  of  mod 
erate  dimensions  received  the  visitor,  which,  at  its  ter 
mination,  expanded  into  what  was  called  in  Dutch  do 
mestic  parlance  a  portaal,  a  word  susceptible  of  various 
applications  as  portal,  entry,  or  lobby.  This  last  was 
its  signification  in  the  present  instance.  It  had  a  win 
dow,  and  an  outside  door  divided  in  the  centre  horizon 
tally.  By  this  was  entered  an  af~dak,  literally  a  "pro 
jecting  roof,"  but  freely  applied,  as  in  this  instance,  to 
the  place  so  sheltered,  and  well  rendered  by  the  En 
glish  term  "lean-to."  Here  were  to  be  seen  guns,  pow 
der-horns,  fishing-tackle,  fishing-boots,  and  weather-de 
fying  coats,  the  Mackintoshes  of  the  day.  A  short 
flight  of  steps  descended  from  this  to  the  ground. 

In  the  portaal  terminated  a  large  heavy  staircase,  be 
neath  which  a  narrow  one,  dark  as  Avernus,  gave  an  en- 


A   PEEP   AT   THE   PAST.  189 

trance  to  the  regions  below.  Into  this  part  of  the  hall 
opened  doors  from  two  of  the  principal  rooms  on  the  first 
floor,  in  passing  through  which  it  was  especially  well  to 
be  heedful,  for  there  were  almost  as  many  levels  as  rooms. 
These  were  small,  badly  lighted,  with  deep  window  re 
cesses,  cushioned,  and  serving  as  seats ;  ceilings  wooden, 
painted,  and  so  low  that  a  tall  man  would  instinctively 
stoop  on  entering ;  with  heavy  beams,  in  some  of  the 
rooms  carved ;  large,  deep  fireplaces,  the  jambs  and  fronts 
ornamented  with  tiles  of  coarse  blue  and  white  pottery, 
illustrating  Scripture  incidents — the  history  of  Moses,  of 
Joseph,  the  Prodigal  Son,  etc. — thus,  with  pious  intent, 
-associating  with  the  sacred  fire  of  the  domestic  hearth 
the  teachings  of  Holy  Writ. 

The  furniture  was  of  black  walnut:  straight,  high- 
backed,  heavy  chairs,  their  seats  covered  with  worsted 
of  divers  colors,  wrought  in  tent-stitch.  In  the  dining- 
room  a  slab  of  the  same  wood  served  as  the  sideboard, 
and  was  laden  with  silver,  massy,  and  richly-wrought. 
The  carpets  were  what  was  called  "  ingrain,"  woven  in 
one  piece,  with  small  figures  on  a  dark  ground,  and  sur 
rounded  by  a  border.  These  were  never  allowed  to  ex 
tend  beneath  the  chairs  or  other  furniture  ranged  against 
the  walls,  but  were,  in  accordance  with  Dutch  notions 
of  neatness,  taken  up  every  week,  and  the  floor  kept  so 
white  and  clean,  that  the  portion  of  it  seen  was  at  once 
the  pride  and  the  test  of  the  housekeeping. 

Dutch  habits,  indeed,  pervaded  the  household.  Like 
many  other  colonists,  Mr.  Lawrence  was  of  English  ex 
traction,  but  his  ancestors,  by  intermarriage  with  Dutch 
families,  had  ingrafted  their  tastes  and  customs  on  the 
original  stock.  These  he  adhered  to  with  much  pef  ti- 
nacity. 

Mr.  Lawrence,  even  still  handsome,  and  remarkably 
well  preserved,  permitted  himself  to  be  called  about 


190  WALTER  THOKNLEY;  OB, 

seventy -three  years  of  age.  A  close  examination  of  the 
family  Bible  might  have  added  three  or  four  years.  But, 
although  nc-t  generally  slow  to  enforce  his  rights,  he 
magnanimously  overlooked  them  in  this  instance ;  and 
if  people,  misled  by  his  vigor  and  good  looks,  gave  him 
less  than  his  due,  he  submitted.  Yet,  somewhat  incon 
sistently — but  who  is  consistent  ? — he  persisted  in  a  style 
of  dress  at  least  ten  or  twelve  years  anterior  to  the  then 
period.  Here,  however,  an  antagonistic  principle  was 
in  force.  "He  would  not  be  dictated  to  by  man-milli 
ners  and  upholsterers.  His  person  and  his  house  should 
be  clothed  as  he,  not  as  they  chose."  Accordingly,  in 
this,  as  in  all  things,  a  practical  exponent  of  the  "  Dec 
laration  of  Independence,"  his  furniture  remained  un 
changed,  and  he  continued  to  wear  coats  whose  defi 
ciency  of  collars  was  compensated  by  immense  cuffs, 
waistcoats  with  deep  pockets,  a  stock,  the  diamond  buckle 
of  which  was  displayed  above  his  coat,  costly  knee  and 
shoe  buckles,  powder,  and  a  cue. 

It  must  be  allowed  that  in  this  his  good  taste  was  as 
conspicuous  as  his  obstinacy.  No  style  would  have  sat 
so  well  upon  him.  He  had,  indeed,  an  eye  for  beauty 
seldom  at  fault,  often  attaching  to  it  a  false  value ;  for 
though,  as  he  thought,  an  aristocratic  distinction  of  right, 
the  possession  gave  importance  in  his  eyes  to  the  most 
humble.  Nature  had  favored  the  weakness.  Handsome 
himself,  he  had  married  a  handsome  wife,  and  had  been 
blessed  with  handsome  children.  Heaven  knows  what 
he  would  have  done  to  them  had  they  been  ugly ! 

Yet  he  was  not  a  vain  man.  Well  convinced  of  his 
advantages  of  whatever  kind,  and  proud  as  "the  son 
of  the  morning,"  he  wanted  no  assurance  from  others. 
He  was  as  little  to  be  flattered  as  an  English  mastiff,  and 
would  have  received  any  such  attempt  with  a  growl 
quite  as  distrustful.  To  a  strong  will,  never  disciplined, 


A   PEEP   AT   THE    PA* I'. 

at  times  implacable,  a  stern  adherent  to  his  conception 
of  honor  and  right,  he  added  endearing  qualities,  more 
apparent  to  his  dependents  than  to  his  equals.  He  was 
a  considerate  landlord,  to  his  servants  a  kind  master ;  in 
dulgent  to  their  small  pleasures,  and,  if  sometimes  impe 
riously  exacting,  and  disproportionately  punishing  petty 
offenses,  often  overlooking  greater  ones ;  in  sickness  mer 
ciful  to  them,  in  old  age  caring  for  them.  Yet  the  wife 
of  his  bosom,  the  dearest  object  of  his  affection,  and  his 
children,  were  not  unfrequently  sufferers  from  his  pe 
culiarities. 

An  aristocrat  in  taste,  he  was  nevertheless  a  democrat 
by  profession.  Nor  was  this  as  unaccountable  as  it  might 
appear.  His  nature  was  essentially  humane,  his  temper 
imperious.  Hence,  reversing  the  laws  of  optics,  objects 
seen  at  a  distance  preserved  to  him  their  true  size  and 
proportions.  It  was  only  when  they  approached  so  near 
as  to  affect  him  personally  that  they  were  exaggerated 
and  distorted.  He  could  admit  the  claims  of  the  whole 
human  family,  but  not  the  rights  of  his  own. 

The  carriage,  having  ascended  the  hill,  turned,  and, 
proceeding  through  a  long  avenue  of  trees,  approached 
the  entrance.  Here  appeared  negroes  of  every  age,  from 
"wee  toddlin'  things"  of  two  or  three  years  to  an  old 
Guinea  negress.  The  younger  ones  slyly  peeped  from 
behind  the  projections  of  the  house  and  kitchen — an  ad 
jacent  building — or  from  the  cellar  rooms.  The  elder 
ones  approached  with  courtesies,  and  demonstrations  of 
welcome.  One  young  fellow,  evidently  an  aspirant  to 
gentility,  elbowed  the  rest  aside,  let  down  the  steps,  and 
with  a  scrape  that  brought  his  head  nearly  to  the  ground, 
expressed  his  high  satisfaction. 

Mr.  Lawrence,  having  been  slightly  indisposed,  had 
not  left  his  room  that  day — an  unusual  occurrence; 
thither,  accordingly,  Pomp,  the  servant  just  mentioned, 


192  WALTER   THOKNLEY;   OR, 

conducted  Eleanor  by  his  master's  orders ;  and  having, 
with  a  flourish  suitable  to  the  occasion,  opened  the  door 
and  seen  her  in,  closed  it  and  retired.  The  first  person 
she  saw  on  entering  was  one  whose  image,  left  on  her 
childhood,  had  never  been  forgotten,  and  which,  though 
altered  by  intervening  years,  still  corresponded  to  the 
original  impression.  Eleanor  rushed  into  the  arms  that 
opened  to  receive  her,  exclaiming,  "Dear  Aunt  Ger 
trude!"  Her  aunt's  eyes  were  more  eloquent  than 
speech.  Pressing  her  tenderly  to  her  heart,  she  whis 
pered,  "Your  grandfather!"  and  Eleanor  comprehended 
the  omission.  Advancing  a  few  steps,  she  saw  a  very 
fine-looking  old  gentleman  in  an  arm-chair,  habited  in  a 
light  gray  camlet  dressing-gown,  lined  with  silk  of  the 
same  color,  and  wearing  a  white  cotton  cap,  not  very 
long  since  occasionally  worn  by  elderly  gentlemen  be 
fore  making  their  dinner  toilets.  The  inadvertence  that 
disturbed  Eleanor  he  was  too  happy  to  notice.  Taking 
both  her  hands  as  she  approached  him,  he  kissed  her  on 
her  lips  and  forehead,  and  said,  in  a  softened  voice, 
"God  bless  you,  my  child!"  Then,  with  a  polite  for 
mality,  he  inquired  for  "  Mr.  and  Mrs.  Meredith,"  and 
then  for  particulars  of  her  voyage. 

These  inquiries  answered,  he  desired  her  to  place  her 
chair  by  his  side,  and  gazed  at  her  with  much  satisfac 
tion  ;  looking  into  her  eyes  as  if  he  would  read  them ; 
surveying  her  minutely  as  she  sat ;  then,  taking  her  hand, 
he  directed  her  to  rise,  measured  her  height  attentively, 
told  her  to  show  him  her  feet,  and,  in  a  sort  of  soliloquy, 
broke  forth : 

"Just  such  eyes  as  mammatje ]s  /" — a  Dutch  diminutive 
for  mamma,  often  fondly  applied  by  him  to  his  wife — 
"just  such  eyes!  No  one  could  ever  tell  their  color, 
but  no  one  ever  forgot  them.  Her  height  too !  just  such 
falling  shoulders !  her  round  waist  too !  Ah !  yes ;  and 


A  PEEP  AT  THE  PAST.  193 

her  hands  too !" — turning  and  examining  them  as  he  spoke 
— "  and  her  feet,  which  one  can  tell  by  a  glance  are  pret 
tier  without  shoe  and  stocking  I  Yes,  mammatje  brought 
all  these  into  the  family.  Do  you  love  to  dance,  child  ?" 

"  Yes,  sir." 

"  To  be  sure  you  do ;  your  feet  were  made  to  dance, 
as  much  as  birds'  wings  to  fly.  So  did  she ;  and  danced 
away  my  heart  the  first  time  I  saw  her."  Then,  look 
ing  at  her  fingers  one  by  one,  he  continued,  "Do  you 
play  on  the  spinet?  I  have  just  had  a  man  from  New 
York  to  put  your  aunt's  in  order  for  you." 

Eleanor  replied  in  the  affirmative. 

"And  sing?" 

"  Yes,  sir." 

"Ah!  yes,  yes,  I  see  you  are  mammatjJs  child" — in 
a  tender  voice — "  more  like  her,  even,  than  Gitty,  who 
was  always  called  her  image." 

Then,  with  a  deep  sigh,  he  bade  her  resume  her  seat. 
"  I  hope  you  will  be  happy  here,  my  child ;  Aunt  Git 
ty  isn't  very  lively,  but  she  is  very  good ;  and  I — I  am 
neither  lively  nor  good,  but  Lfeel  that  I  shall  love  you 
very  much;  and  Cousin  Phil,  he  will  make  up  what 
ever  we  lack.  By  the  way,  Gitty,  where  is  Philip  ?  He 
ought  to  be  here." 

Miss  Lawrence,  who  had  not  withdrawn  her  admiring 
and  loving  gaze  from  her  niece  since  she  had  entered, 
but  had  been  silent  from  respect  to  her  father,  replied, 
"  You  know,  sir,  he  could  not  be  sure  that  his  cousin 
would  come  to-day,  and  he  is  off  sporting,  I  believe,  for 
I  heard  him  call  the  dogs." 

Mr.  Lawrence  frowned. 

"  He  should  have  remained  here,  like  a  gentleman  on 
duty,  to  receive  her  whenever  she  might  come.  But  he 
is  a  good  fellow,  Eleanor,  and  will  be  a  merry  compan 
ion  for  you.  Do  you  remember  him  at  all  ?" 

I 


194  WALTER  THORNLEY;  OR, 

"  Very  little,  sir.  I  can  only  just  recollect  him  as  a 
boy,  terrifying  me  by  pointing  a  gun  at  me." 

"  The  rascal  I  the  young  rascal !"  exclaimed  Mr.  Law 
rence.  "  But  now,  in  vengeance,  my  pretty  Nelly,  you 
shall  point  your  eyes  at  him — much  better  ordnance,  I 
can  tell  you,  than  his  gun." 

The  tea-hour,  an  early  one,  had  passed,  and  Eleanor, 
having  declined  all  refreshment,  withdrew  with  her  aunt 
to  the  apartment  assigned  her.  This  consisted  of  two 
rooms ;  one,  her  bedroom,  commanding  a  view  of  the 
river;  the  other,  in  its  rear,  and  communicating  with 
it,  combined  the  conveniences  of  dressing-room  and  li 
brary.  Here  a  large  Icass  (Anglice,  wardrobe)  of  black 
walnut,  supported  by  immense  balls,  with  its  heavy  cor 
nice,  extended  to  the  low  ceiling.  Its  two  folding  doors, 
richly  carved,  when  opened,  disclosed  deep  recesses,  af 
fording  space  for  skirts  that 

"Made  a  brave  expansion." 

Next  in  importance  was  a  walnut  bookcase,  the  lower 
part  an  escritoire,  on  the  top  of  which  was  a  small  plas 
ter  bust  of  Calvin,  painted,  black,  probably  in  honor  of 
his  cloth.  Here,  among  many  of  graver  character,  were 
a  few  books  placed  apparently  for  her  especial  benefit: 
"Bennett's  Letters  to  young  Ladies,"  "Fordyce's  Ser 
mons  for  young  "Women,"  "Gregory's  Advice  to  his 
Daughters,"  "  Mrs.  Chapone's  Letters ;"  and,  for  lighter 
reading,  "The  religious  Courtship,"  and  "Sir  Charles 
Grandison,"  in  eight  volumes. 

Then  came  a  commode-table  of  ancient  fashion,  en 
riched  with  marble  and  brass,  and  adapted  to  the  in 
tricate  toilet  of  her  grandmother's  time.  On  this  was 
placed  a  little  cabinet,  covered  with  ivory,  and  adorned 
with  horses,  trees,  pagodas,  men,  women,  and  beasts,  that 
certainly  did  not  violate  the  commandment. 

The  cavernous  chimneys  of  both  rooms  were  orna- 


A  PEEP  AT  THE  PAST.  195 

mented  with  tiles.  One  of  them,  open  to  the  ceiling,  in 
stead  of  a  mantle-piece,  had  a  chintz  valance.  How  fire 
could  be  safely  made  in  such  a  place  Eleanor  might  well 
wonder.  The  other,  placed  in  the  angle  of  the  room, 
was  curtailed  in  breadth,  but,  as  a  compensation,  was 
furnished  with  a  breastwork  that  ascended  pyramidally 
to  the  ceiling,  divided  into  panels  and  other  devices  de 
signed  for  ornament.  The  tiles  set  forth  the  histories  of 
Esther  and  Judith;  and,  though  the  Jewish  heroines 
were  neither  as  touching  or  magnificent  as  when  por 
trayed  by  Guercino  and  Allori,  they  had,  nevertheless, 
met  with  admiration. 

The  heavy  carved  four-post  bedstead,  blackened  by 
time,  was  surrounded  by  curtains  on  which  blue  and 
white  shepherds  and  shepherdesses  tended  blue  and 
white  sheep,  wove  garlands  of  blue  and  white  roses,  and 
reposed  under  blue  and  white  trees  but  little  higher  than 
themselves. 

But,  if  Art  was  rude,  Nature,  ever  true  to  herself,  was 
beautiful !  The  river,  though  seen  through  small  and 
inconveniently-constructed  windows,  was  to  be  traced 
far-stretching  north  and  south;  and  the  mountains,  ir 
radiated  by  the  declining  sun,  burnishing,  as  he  receded, 
their  empurpled  summits,  amply  made  up  for  all  interior 
deficiencies. 

Having  changed  her  dress,  Eleanor  proceeded  to  ad 
just  herself  in  her  new  quarters,  and,  this  done,  a  sum 
mons  to  supper  recalled  her  to  her  friends.  At  the  din 
ing-room  door  she  was  met  by  her  grandfather.  He  had 
insisted  on  leaving  his  room  on  her  account ;  and,  tak 
ing  her  hand,  with  apologies  for  his  dishabille,  he  intro 
duced  to  her  a  handsome  young  man  as  "Mr. Philip 
Lawrence,  her  cousin,"  who  advanced  to  greet  her  with 
much  cordiality. 

A  pleasant  recognition  of  each  other  by  the  young 


196  WALTER  THORNLEY;  OR, 

people,  with  a  reference  to  the  circumstance  already  re 
ferred  to,  drew  forth  the  old  gentleman ;  who,  shaking 
his  cane  at  his  grandson,  and  then  winking  at  Eleanor, 
exclaimed,  with  a  laugh,  "But  she  is  able  to  avenge  her 
self  now,  sir,  I  can  tell  you ;  and  you'll  do  well  if  you 
escape  without  being  mortally  wounded  1" 

Eleanor  laughed  carelessly,  but  her  cousin  looked  a 
little  conscious  and  uneasy. 

Placing  Eleanor  on  his  right,  and  his  grandson  on  his 
left,  Mr.  Lawrence  was  radiant  with  good-humor ;  while 
Miss  Lawrence,  occupying  the  head  of  the  table,  dis 
pensed  with  grace  and  kindness  the  good  things  that 
covered  it ;  among  which  was  to  be  seen  the  simple  and 
never-failing  "suppaan" — boiled  Indian  meal — which, 
in  spite  of  modern  refinements,  Mr.  Lawrence  insisted 
on  retaining. 

At  nine  o'clock,  as  told  by  a  large  clock  in  a  light 
blue  and  gilt  japanned  case,  standing  in  a  corner  of  the 
room,  the  servants — a  goodly  number — entered  to  family 
prayers ;  and  at  ten,  the  usual  hour  for  retiring,  Eleanor 
was  reconducted  to  her  room  by  her  aunt,  who,  kissing 
her,  said,  with  a  smile,  "  It  is  so  long  since  you  slept  in 
this  house,  my  love,  that  your  dreams  may  be  as  pro 
phetic  as  if  it  were  the  first  time.  I  hope  they  will  be 
pleasant,  at  all  events.  I  am  too  happy  to  sleep  at  all,  I 
fear." 

"Dear  aunt,"  thought  Eleanor,  as  she  left  her,  "there 
is  something  in  her  face  that  says  she  has  not  often  been 
sleepless  from  excess  of  happiness!  How  sweet  she 
looks !  yet  she  must  be  forty,  I  suppose.  I  wonder  if 
people  are  not  always  young  who  are  as  good  as  Aunt 
Gertrude." 


A  PEEP  AT  THE  PAST.  197 


CHAPTER  XVIIL 

ELEANOR'S  rest  was  so  profound  that,  much  to  her 
confusion,  she  found,  on  entering  the  parlor  in  the  morn 
ing,  the  family  prayers  over,  and  her  grandfather  cere 
moniously  waiting  for  her.  Her  humble  apology  was 
graciously  received,  and  Miss  Lawrence,  to  relieve  her 
embarrassment,  playfully  called  for  her  dream. 

"Oh,  I  slept  too  soundly  for  that;  but  stay!  I  did 
dream  something,  too.  Ah !  now  I  recollect ;  and  it  was 
about  Cousin  Philip,"  said  Eleanor,  looking  archly  at 
him,  "  and  his  gun,  which  he  again  pointed  at  me,  when 
suddenly  it  changed  into  a  wreath — like  those  on  the 
curtains,  you  know ;  I  had  been  examining  them  just 
before  I  fell  asleep — and,  as  he  wound  it  round  me,  in  the 
effort  to  escape  I  awoke ;  but  I  was  soon  fast  again,  and 
had  forgotten  it  entirely." 

Her  grandfather  chucked  her  under  the  chin,  exclaim 
ing,  "  Forgot  it !  No,  no,  I  don't  believe  that.  But 
there's  no  harm  in  a  little  coquetry.  "Tis  only  an  agree 
able  spice,  which,  I  dare  say,  you  know  how  to  use." 

Cousin  Philip  colored ;  but  Eleanor  attached  no  sig 
nificance  to  that,  nor  to  the  raillery  that  excited  it.  She 
was  no  coquette.  Indeed,  so  little  was  her  nature  adapt 
ed  to  affect  or  to  conceal,  that  she  hardly  comprehended 
the  word  in  its  full  extent,  and  replied  to  the  charge 
only  by  a  smile. 

Master  Philip,  thus  far  rather  unceremoniously  intro 
duced,  has  claims  to  a  more  particular  notice.  He  was 
the  orphan  and  only  grandson  of  Mr.  Lawrence.  De 
prived  of  his  parents  from  infancy,  he  had  passed  his  life 
under  his  grandfather's  roof;  and,  though  the  right  of 


198  WALTER  THORNLEY;  OR, 

primogeniture  had  ceased  to  exist  by  law,  it  was  general 
ly  supposed  that  Mr.  Lawrence,  in  accordance  with  what, 
to  him,  would  be  a  "higher  law" — his  own  choice — in 
tended  to  leave  nearly  all  his  large  estate  to  him. 

Good  looks  were  his  by  inheritance.  To  these  he 
added  good  temper,  unspoiled  by  his  position ;  amiable 
manners,  kindly  feelings,  and  good  natural  abilities. 
These  last,  however,  had  received  little  cultivation.  He 
had,  indeed,  been  sent  to  college,  for  which  he  was  in 
differently  prepared;  but,  with  no  habits  or  tastes  fit 
ting  him  to  derive  advantage  from  it,  his  grandfather 
wisely  deemed  that  the  exposure  to  his  morals  was  great 
er  than  the  benefit  to  his  mind,  and  recalled  him  before 
the  academic  course  was  completed.  Hardy  and  fear 
less,  his  passion  was  country  sports ;  and  with  such  per 
severance  and  success  did  he  pursue  them,  that  they  pro 
cured  for  him  a  reputation  far  more  to  his  fancy  than 
any  honors  a  college  could  confer.  His  grandfather  saw 
his  deficiencies  with  a  lenient  eye ;  not  so  much  from 
an  overweening  indulgence,  as  from  a  pride  that  refused 
to  admit  them  as  such. 

"  Phil  was  a  gentleman,  every  inch  of  him.  Brave 
and  generous;  he  couldn't  be  otherwise;  'twas  in  his 
blood ;  he  would  be  a  good  master  and  landlord ;  had  no 
vices ;  what  great  matter  if  he  didn't  like  books  ?  like  a 
young  Persian,  he  could  ride,  shoot,  and  tell  the  truth ; 
and  that  was  more  than  some  chaps  could  do,  who  were 
men  before  they  were  boys,  and  grew  up  without  either 
childhood  or  manhood.  Book- worms  were  not  the  most 
useful  people  in  the  world.  No ;  he  had  found  that  out, 
to  his  sorrow !" 

These  and  similar  reflections  served  to  reconcile  the 
old  gentleman  to  the  inevitable. 

The  breakfast  over,  Mr.  Lawrence  remained  in  the  par 
lor  till  Pomp,  punctual  to  the  stroke  of  ten,  appeared  at 


A  PEEP  AT  THE  PAST.  199 

the  door  with  a  silver  salver,  on  which  was  a  silver  mug 
with  warm  water  for  shaving,  and  stood  till  his  master 
proceeded  to  his  room,  whither  he  followed.  There 
the  business  of  the  toilet  began.  The  wrapper  was  ex 
changed  for  the  "  powdering  gown."  The  shaving  fin 
ished,  the  hair  "  en  papillotes"  was  released,  pomatumed, 
frizzed,  curled,  and  powdered,  and  the  cue  carefully  en 
twined  with  its  black  ribbon.  If  Mr.  Lawrence  intended 
to  ride,  he  dressed  accordingly ;  but  if,  as  on  the  present 
occasion,  he  meant  to  remain  within,  he  arranged  him 
self  as  if  for  company ;  and  reappeared  in  the  dining- 
room  just  before  one  o'clock,  which,  as  the  dining  hour, 
no  conformity  to  later  fashions  could  induce  him  to 
change. 

Eleanor  had  come  like  the  olive-bearing  dove,  and,  as 
such,  found  access  to  all  hearts,  especially  her  aunt's. 
She  had  suffered  much  from  the  family  breach,  and  re 
ceived  her  niece  with  nearly  a  mother's  love.  There 
was  a  striking  resemblance  between  them,  from  the 
likeness  they  both  bore  to  the  same  person  —  Mrs. 
Lawrence.  They  had  also  much  of  her  character,  but 
different  phases  of  it.  Eleanor  reproduced  her,  frank, 
joyous,  spirited,  as  when,  in  the  words  of  her  husband, 
she  had  "  danced  away  his  heart ;"  her  daughter  recall 
ed  her,  when,  after  subduing  his  heart,  her  own  had 
passed  under  the  yoke.  Time  had  dealt  kindly  with 
Miss  Lawrence.  In  withdrawing  some  beauties,  he  had 
added  others.  He  had  stolen  the  rose,  but  he  had  re 
placed  it  with  a  lily  so  perfect  as  seemed  a  fitter  expres 
sion  of  her  pure  spirit;  and  if,  on  her  fair  brow,  there 
might  be  detected  some  slight 

"Lines  of  his  antique  pen," 

they  were  scarcely  noticed  in  the  sweet  serenity  that 
ever  dwelt  there.  Her  smiles,  if  less  gay  and  frequent, 
were  more  tender;  and 


200  WALTER  THORNLEY;  OR, 

' '  Still  her  eyes  smiled  too, 
But  'twas  as  if  remembering  they  had  wept." 

Ah!  how  truly  has  it  been  said,  "Within  the  most 
beautiful  eyes  are  yet  fountains  of  tears!" 

Notwithstanding  difference  of  years  and  temperament, 
there  soon  appeared  a  happy  adaptation  between  the 
aunt  and  niece.  The  inward  peace  which  spoke  in  Miss 
Lawrence's  face,  her  gentleness,  her  self-forgetfulness  man 
ifested  in  constant  thought  for  others,  her  patience,  her 
chastened  cheerfulness,  shed  a  tranquilizing  influence  on 
the  yet  excited  and  sore  spirit  of  Eleanor,  who,  in  turn, 
as  her  feelings  gradually  recovered,  in  good  degree,  their 
natural  tone,  gave  animation  and  movement  to  the  still 
waters  of  Miss  Lawrence's  life. 

While  her  aunt  attended  to  some  domestic  matters, 
Eleanor  sought  her  own  amusement;  and,  wandering 
into  the  drawing-room,  spied  the  spinet  that  her  grand 
father  had  mentioned.  It  was  an  antiquated  instru 
ment,  but  had  been  costly  and  handsome  in  its  time ; 
and,  when  she  touched  it,  she  was  surprised  to  find  its 
tone  so  good.  Turning  over  leaves  and  books  of  music, 
she  found  some  which,  though  a  little  old-fashioned, 
bore  testimony  to  her  aunt's  nice  taste :  Handel's  "  Wa 
ter  music,"  his  much-admired  "  minuet  in  Ariadne,"  por 
tions  from  other  operas;  and,  among  the  songs,  some 
in  sentiment  far  excelling  those  that  had  superseded 
them:  Waller's  beautiful  lines,  "Go,  lovely  Rose;"  Ben 
Jonson's  "Drink  to  me  only  with  thine  eyes,"  which 
has  since  been  murdered  by  being  made  "  a  lesson  for 
beginners ;"  "  The  rose  had  been  wash'd,  lately  wash'd 
in  a  shower,"  and  others  of  the  same  character.  From 
one  of  the  books  a  loose  leaf  fell  out,  on  which  were  the 
notes  and  words  of  a  song  in  manuscript.  Her  attention 
was  attracted  to  it  by  an  attempt  to  obliterate  some  writ 
ing  on  the  margin,  of  which  only  a  date,  and  "sent  by," 
were  visible.  The  song,  beginning 


A  PEEP  AT  THE  PAST.  201 

"  Whither,  my  love — ah  !  whither  art  thou  flown? 

Let  not  thine  absence  cloud  this  happy  morn. 

Say,  by  thy  heart,  can  falsehood  e'er  be  known  ? 

Ah  no !  ah  no  !  love,  I  judge  it  by  my  own," 

touched  a  chord  that  vibrated  in  Eleanor's,  then  particu 
larly  sympathetic  on  the  subject  of  the  tender  passion ; 
and,  her  imagination  excited  by  the  idea  of  mystery,  she 
tried,  girl-like,  to  solve  it.  The  paper  was  yellow  with 
age,  the  ink  pale,  therefore  both  belonged  to  "long 
ago."  It  must  have  been  sent  to  Aunt  Gertrude  in  days 
of  "Auld  lang  syne."  "  Yes;  but  had  it  any  personal 
reference  to  herself,  or  to  the  giver  ?  If  not,  why  erase 
so  carefully  the  name  ?  Did  that  express  displeasure,  or 
desire  of  concealment  ?"  Eleanor  could  not  satisfy  her 
self;  but  she  felt  more  than  ever  drawn  to  Aunt  Gertrude 
by  the  fantastic  idea  thus  conjured  up.  She  tried  the 
air ;  it  was  very  tender,  and  she  readily  caught  it. 

When  she  returned  to  the  parlor,  where  Miss  Lawrence 
had  remained,  her  aunt  said,  "  You  have  been  trying  my 
long-forsaken  spinet,  my  dear,  and  have  chanced  on  one 
of  my  old  songs,  I  perceive." 

Miss  Lawrence's  manner  was  so  calm  and  unconscious 
that  Eleanor's  little  castle  tumbled  down. 

"Dear  me!"  thought  she,  much  disappointed;  "then 
it  was  not  a  lover,  after  all  I" 

No  sketch  of  the  domestic  Hfe  of  the  period  could  well 
omit  the  humbler  characters  in  the  family  drama.  Ne 
groes  made  then,  in  the  State  of  New  York,  a  necessary 
part  of  every  establishment,  great  or  small. 

The  gentle  race  is  now  fast  disappearing  from  the 
household.  It  is  only  occasionally  that  a  courtesy  or  a 
bow  from  a  gray  head  recalls  those  who  nursed  our  in 
fancy  and  guarded  our  childhood;  who  prepared,  with 
an  instinct  all  their  own,  the  food  for  the  family  or  hos 
pitable  board,  and  served  it  with  an  assiduity  peculiar  to 

T2 


202 

themselves ;  who  sat  unwearied,  during  the  night-watch 
es,  by  sick-beds;  ministered,  fearless  even  of  contagion, 
to  the  dying,  and  followed  the  dead  to  their  last  homes, 
with  a  fidelity  not  measured  by  their  merits — our  at 
tendants  from  the  cradle  to  the  grave.  Surely,  as  such, 
none  will  reject  a  passing  tribute  to  them. 

The  "  vexed  question"  of  slavery,  which  even  then 
began  to  be  discussed,  did  not  yet  agitate  the  public 
mind  as  it  has  since  done.  Philanthropists  and  patriots 
revolved  schemes  for  solving  the  threatening  problem, 
but  most  persons  satisfied  their  convictions  of  duty  to 
ward  their  slaves  by  humane  treatment,  to  which  some 
added  a  care  for  their  morals.  Of  these  were  Mr.  Law 
rence.  They  were  a  part  of  his  inheritance,  and  he  would 
have  felt  himself  disgraced  as  a  gentleman  had  he  been 
a  cruel  or  neglectful  master.  He  enforced  the  marriage 
tie,  punished  vice,  exacted  no  severe  labor,  and  was  con 
siderate  to  sickness  and  infirmity.  His  daughter's  com 
passion  was  more  enlarged.  Lamenting  their  ignorance, 
she  tried  to  instruct  them  in  reading  and  writing ;  and, 
when  baffled  by  their  inaptitude,  gave  time  and  pa 
tience  to  their  oral  teaching.  Here,  too,  she  had  difficul 
ties.  With  no  bad  passions,  affectionate,  gentle,  and,  ac 
cording  to  their  light,  faithful,  their  moral  perceptions 
were  nevertheless  not  very  clear.  The  abstract  beauty 
of  truth  they  could  neither  feel  nor  see ;  and,  though 
money  might  be  as  safely  exposed  to  them,  as  were  the 
bracelets  hung  on  forest-trees  in  the  days  of  righteous 
King  Alfred,  edibles  were  less  respected.  Even  Momma 
Zip,  with  her  stern  fidelity,  scrupled  not  to  expound  the 
law  of  meum  and  tuum  with  considerable  latitude,  pro 
nouncing,  "  What  put  in  de  pocket,  dat  teefy ;  what  put 
in  de  tummack,  dat  no  teefy." 

They  had  much  increased  in  numbers,  having  been 
more  careful  to  "replenish  the  earth"  than  their  master 


A  PEEP  AT  THE  PAST.  203 

thought  necessary;  for,  as  he  never  would  sell  them, 
they  were  not  welcome  additions  to  his  family.  Miss 
Lawrence,  on  the  contrary,  sat  like  Charity  with  open 
arms,  ready  to  receive  all  who  came,  notwithstanding 
that  they  added  much  to  her  cares.  These  began  even 
in  anticipation  of  their  approach,  as  various  small  gar 
ments,  issuing  from  her  work-basket,  would  testify.  On 
such  occasions,  every  indulgence  that  nature  required 
was  granted:  a  comfortable  room,  a  competent  nurse, 
quiet,  and  the  usual  time  allotted  for  restoration.  To 
this  succeeded  thoughts  for  the  little  ones  themselves, 
who  were  allowed  to  be  brought  to  her  room,  and  to 
lie  on  a  pallet  spread  on  her  carpet,  that  they  might 
enjoy  an  hour  of  purer  air  and  brighter  sun  than  could 
be  had  in  their  own  proper  quarters;  and  that  their 
mothers,  by  this  notice  and  inspection  of  them,  might 
be  incited  to  greater  care.  When  ill,  with  her  own 
fair  hands  she  ministered  to  the  little  sufferers;  and 
when,  as  sometimes  happened,  the  freedom  of  the  Celes 
tial  City  was  conferred  on  them,  she  sympathized  with 
their  mothers,  but  rejoiced  for  them. 

The  saying,  "Many  hands  make  light  work,"  was 
verified  in  Mr.  Lawrence's  establishment,  where,  as  he 
was  used  to  say,  "  the  negroes  raised  the  corn,  the  corn 
fed  the  hogs,  the  hogs  fed  the  negroes,  and  the  farm- 
circle  was  completed  without  loss  or  gain."  Horses, 
carriages,  and  stables  were  the  charge  of  Uncle  Mink 
and  his  assistants.  His  wife,  Aunt  Flore,  ranked  first 
among  the  house-servants,  more  from  her  individual 
superiority  than  from  her  department.  She  was  a  tall, 
well-formed,  bright-looking  mulatto,  the  diplomat  of  the 
kitchen,  whose  ability  was  best  expressed  by  her  mas 
ter's  saying  that "  Flore  could  cheat  the  devil."  Though 
generally  preferring  to  carry  her  point  by  a  manoeuvre, 
she  could,  when  she  pleased,  use  a  freedom  of  speech 


204 

that  even  her  master  did  not  care  to  encounter.  In  the 
kitchen  she  was  supreme.  She  had  been  dressing-maid 
to  the  young  ladies,  and  afterward  attendant  on  Master 
Phil's  infancy,  who  had  been  so  much  her  pride  as  to 
encroach  on  the  rights  of  her  ebony  offspring.  When 
no  longer  necessary  to  him,  she  had  been  promoted  to 
the  ministry  of  the  interior  as  assistant  to  Mrs.  Dorothy, 
a  spinster  who  had  known  better  days,  and  who  pre 
sided  in  the  housekeeper's  room.  Here  were  prepared 
all  the  "  subtleties"  of  pastry,  cake,  and  preserves  in  a 
Dutch  menage.  Then,  too,  Flore  was  an  experienced 
nurse,  and  nice  things  for  those  who  were  well  alterna 
ted  with  possets,  gruels,  wheys,  and  soups  for  the  sick. 
There  was,  indeed,  nothing  she  could  not  do. 

Aunt  Minty,  the  cook,  a  fat,  simple,  good-natured 
creature,  was  admirable  in  the  substantials.  But  she 
would  sometimes  forget  the  time,  or  the  fire  that  had 
been  unadvisedly  spared  to  one  dish  had  been  unduly 
bestowed  on  another,  or  a  sauce  or  appropriate  vegeta 
ble  had  been  omitted ;  and  as  often  her  master  would 
send  her  peremptory  orders  to  u  quit  the  premises !  nev 
er  again  to  appear  in  his  presence !"  But  Aunty  Minty 
budged  not,  and  noticed  the  mandate  only  by  saying,  as 
she  quietly  lighted  her  pipe,  and  took  immovable  pos 
session  of  her  usual  seat,  with  a  chuckle,  "Dat  on'y 
massa's  way."  Her  son,  "little  Pomp,"  a  well-grown 
lad  of  eighteen,  was  a  compound  of  her  simplicity  with 
a  dash  of  Aunt  Flore.  He  had  appeared  to  profit  rather 
more  than  the  rest  from  Miss  Lawrence's  instructions, 
but  it  proved  only  "  the  knowledge  that  puffeth  up ;"  for 
of  his  reading  he  selected,  with  true  negro  love  of  orna 
ment,  the  longest  words  in  order  to  garnish  his  discourse, 
but  retained  little  of  the  subject  matter.  Next  to  Aunt 
Flore,  he  was  the  kitchen  oracle. 

Besides  these  were  "  little  Minty"  and  "  little  Flore"-— 


A  PEEP  AT  THE   PAST.  205 

who,  in  their  clean  white  linen  "bed-aprons,"  moved 
about  in  smiling  and  leisurely  companionship  through 
the  labors  of  the  morning — and  others,  like  the  "su 
pernumeraries"  of  the  theatre,  of  no  individual  import 
ance,  yet  occasionally  finding  a  part  they  could  fill. 

But  unlike  all  was  Momma  Zip,  an  abbreviation  of 
Zilpah,  by  which  name  her  first  master  had  replaced  her 
native  one.  She  was  a  Guinea  woman  of  the  blackest 
dye,  and  of  an  age  which,  though  only  guessed  to  be 
eighty,  was  probably  not  much  overrated.  Yet  she  was 
still  useful,  and  retained  a  good  degree  of  activity.  Long 
as  she  had  been  in  the  country,  she  had  but  imperfectly 
acquired  the  language,  partly  from  inaptitude,  but  more 
from  an  indisposition  to  talk.  Unlike  her  race,  she  was 
silent,  except  that  she  muttered  much  to  herself,  and 
would  stroll  off  into  the  wood  adjoining — "the  bush,'7 
as  it  was  called — or  into  "  the  hollow,"  in  preference  to 
the  chimney  corner.  The  deep  seams  in  her  cheeks, 
which  Eleanor  supposed  to  be  wrinkles,  were  the  marks 
of  her  tribe,  and,  with  an  occasional  fierceness  of  look 
and  gesture,  indicated  that  she  had  belonged  to  one  of 
the  more  warlike  ones ;  yet  she  was  a  kind  and  patient 
nurse  to  the  negro  children,  who,  with  the  care  and  pick 
ing  of  the  poultry,  and  the  feeding  of  the  dogs — not  few 
in  number — were  her  charge.  She  was  much  bent,  more 
from  sitting  than  infirmity,  and  walked  with  a  stick,  not 
because  she  required  it,  but  that  it  added  to  her  dignity, 
as  it  certainly  did  to  her  power,  among  the  subjects 
committed  to  her  rule. 

With  different  degrees  of  moral  and  mental  capacity, 
they  could  all  love  Miss  Gertrude.  She  was  to  them 
the  personification  of  goodness;  and,  though  they  had 
but  a  dim  appreciation  of  her  whole  character,  the  very 
vagueness  of  their  perceptions  seemed  to  add  to  their 
veneration.  She  was  something  which  they  felt  they  did 


206  WALTER  THORNLEY;  OR, 

not  quite  understand,  but  wiser  and  better  than  any  one 
else. 

The  following  day,  Sunday,  the  large  family  carriage, 
with  Mr.  and  Miss  Lawrence,  Eleanor,  Mr.  Philip,  and 
Mrs.  Dorothy — always  treated  with  this  consideration — 
and  attended  by  a  wagon  with  all  the  domestics  that  could 
be  spared,  proceeded  to  a  church  of  the  Dutch  reformed 
communion,  where  most  of  the  neighboring  gentry  also 
assembled.  There  Domine  Van  Kleeck,  a  portly,  com 
fortable-looking  person,  officiated.  The  services,  includ 
ing  the  sermon,  were  in  Dutch,  which  Mr.  Lawrence, 
understanding,  attended  to  with  much  reverence,  but 
which  Miss  Lawrence  followed  with  more  difficulty; 
while  Mr.  Philip  understood  here  and  there  a  sentence, 
and  Eleanor  not  a  word.  Much,  therefore,  as  the  dom- 
ine  might  have  "edified  himself"  and  the  older  mem 
bers  of  the  congregation,  to  her  and  to  the  other  jun 
iors,  his  unknown  tongue,  "giving  forth  an  uncertain 
sound,"  profited  little,  except  that 

"They  got  patience  and  the  blessing." 

But,  though  the  public  worship,  continued  through  the 
day,  with  the  attendance  of  all  rigorously  exacted,  was 
not  at  all  to  her  edification,  Eleanor  found  an  hour  in 
Aunt  Gertrude's  room,  under  her  gentle  ministry,  fruit 
ful  of  much  instruction.  Among  her  devotional  books 
were  many  then  in  favor,  as  Flavel,  Doddridge,  "Watts, 
andHervey;  the  poems  of  the  "divine  Herbert"  also, 
from  which  last  Miss  Lawrence  selected  the  "Church 
Porch" — a  mine  of  wisdom,  sacred  and  secular,  and  his 
hymn  to  Providence : 

"In  small  things  great,  not  small  in  any; 
In  all  things  one,  in  each  thing  many ; 
Infinite  in  one  and  all!" 

Listening  to  her  aunt's  sweet  voice,  and  moved  by  her 
tender  devotion,  Eleanor  was  taught  that 


A  PEEP  AT  THE   PAST.  207 

"A  verse  may  finde  him  who  a  sermon  flies, 
And  turn  delight  into  a  sacrifice." 

At  night,  when  going  to  her  room,  her  aunt  accom 
panied  her,  kissed  her  fondly,  and  said,  "  I  am  glad,  my 
love,  that  you  like  some  of  my  good  old-fashioned 
friends ;  you  will,  I  hope,  like  them  better  and  better." 
Then  patting  her  blooming  cheek,  she  added,  with  a 
smile  and  a  sigh, 

"'Time  did  beckon  to  the  flowers, 
And  they  by  noon  did  steal  away.' 

But  grieve  not,  dear  child;  there  are  flowers  that  fade 
not,  and  you,  I  trust,  will  gather  them." 


208  WALTER  THORNLEY;  OR, 


CHAPTEK  XIX. 

ELEANOR  loved  to  wander  about  the  old  house  and 
explore  its  intricacies.  There  was  a  large  hall  in  the 
second  story,  but,  as  her  room  did  not  communicate  with 
it,  she  had  been  some  days  at  her  grandfather's  before 
she  discovered  that  it  contained  several  portraits.  Hav 
ing  found  her  way  there,  she  was  one  morning  endeav 
oring  to  spell  out  the  originals  through  the  lapse  of  time 
and  changes  of  dress,  when  Flore  crossed  the  hall,  and, 
as  she  courtesied,  Eleanor  detained  her. 

"  Stay,  Aunt  Flore,  and  tell  me  about  these  pictures ; 
and,  first,  who  is  this  old  lady  in  a  black  hood  that  cov 
ers  all  but  her  face,  and  with  her  hands  crossed  on  her 
breast?" 

"  Oh,  dat  ar  massa's  gran'moder ;  dat  ar  cum  eber  so 
far  'cross  de  water." 

"  Indeed !  but  why  is  this  hole  in  one  of  the  fingers  ?" 

"Dat,"  said  Flore,  smiling,  "is  Massa  Phil's  doin's. 
When  he  fuss  larnt  to  shoot  wid  a  bow  an'  arrer,  what 
muss  he  do  but  take  aim  at  de  ole  lady's  ring,  and  shoot 
it  troo.  Massa  was  drefful  mad ;  but,  Lorry  me,  missis ! 
none  body  could  eber  be  mad  wid  Massa  Phil,  you  know ; 
and  so,  when  he  cried,  massa  guv  him  a  crown  to  make 
up." 

"And  then,"  said  Eleanor,  laughing,  "he  shot^  again, 
I  suppose  ?" 

"No,  no;  no  such  a  ting,  missis;  Massa  Phil  neber 
wuss  for  kindness — always  'member  dat,  missis,"  contin 
ued  Flore,  with  more  emphasis,  Eleanor  thought,  than 
the  matter  demanded;  "wheneber  you  want  a  ting  ob 
Massa  Phil,  coaxin'  is  de  way." 


A  PEEP  AT  THE   PAST.  209 

"  And  who  is  this  handsome  lady,  with  a  rich  stom 
acher,  and  jewels  in  her  hair?" 

"  Lorry  me,  missis !  don't  you  know  ?  dat  ar  your  own 
gran'ma." 

"  Is  it,  indeed  ?  Well,  I  don't  wonder  grandpapa  loved 
her  so  much ;"  and  Eleanor  looked  tenderly  and  rever 
ently  on  the  sweet  face  that  seemed  to  respond  benig- 
nantly.  "  And  this,  though  it  looks  so  young,  must  be 
his  likeness,  is  it  not?" 

"  Yes,  missis,  sure  'nuff ;  just  so,  I  'member  my  mod- 
er  say,  he  looked  when  he  was  marr'ed ;  wid  a  brack 
silk  bag  to  his  hair,  and  a  brack  ribbon  crossed  ober  his 
bosom,  and  his  waistcoat  all  kivered  with  flowers.  And 
dis  yer  one,  missis — I's  sartin  you  must  know  dis,"  point 
ing  to  a  very  handsome  boy,  dressed  in  scarlet,  holding 
a  hound  in  a  leash. 

"  No,  no ;  I  can  only  guess :  perhaps  'tis  Mr.  Philip." 

"  Ah !  yes,  I  was  tinkin'  you'd  find  him  out,"  replied 
Aunt  Flore,  with  a  significant  smile. 

"And  this  beautiful  girl?"  asked  Eleanor,  unmindful 
of  the  insinuation;  "she  seems  not  over  fifteen;  a  bird 
is  resting  on  her  wrist,  and  she  looks  at  it  with  almost  a 
smile :  what  a  lovely  face !" 

"  Dar !  you  juss  hit  it,  missis,"  exclaimed  Aunt  Flore, 
triumphantly ;  "  she  was  de  lubliest  young  lady  in  de 
whole  county — dat  ar  Miss  Gertrude." 

"  I  thought  as  much ;  and  this,  I  suspect,  must  be  my 
dear  mother;  for,  though  younger  and  prettier  than  I 
can  remember  her,  there  is  still  the  same  look  that  I  so 
much  love — better  to  me  than  all  the  "beauty  in  the 
world." 

"  Yes,  missis,  dat  ar  de  trute ;  dat  are  Miss  Janet  'fore 
she  was  marr'd." 

"  And  this  pretty  lady,  who  is  she  ?  in  what,  I  suppose, 
mamma  means  by  a  sack  of  pink  silk  with  white  rob- 


210  WALTER  THORNLEY;  OR, 

ings,  which  I  have  heard  her  describe.  She  must  be  of 
another  family ;  her  eyes  and  hair  are  very  dark,  and, 
though  she  has  a  fine  color,  she  is  a  brunette." 

"A  what,  missis?  I  dunno  know  dat;  but  I  know 
she  was  Massa  Phil's  moder." 

"Poor  woman!"  sighed  Eleanor;  "she  died  very 
young,  did  she  not,  Aunt  Flore  ?" 

"O  Lor!  yes,  missis;  dat  ar  was  horr'ble  time,"  re 
plied  Flore,  looking  darker  than  usual,  and  turning  away 
as  if  going. 

"Stay!  don't  go  yet:  here  is  another;  but  why  does 
this  green  curtain  hang  over  it  ?  ISTo,  I  can't  reach  it. 
You  are  so  tall,  Aunt  Flore,  do  you  draw  it  for  me." 

"Bress  me,  missis,  I  dars'n't;  massa  won't  hab  it 
drawed  never.  He'd  kill  me  if  I  did  sich  a  ting." 

" But  why,  then,  let  it  hang  here?" 

At  this  moment  Mrs.  Dorothy  entered,  and  Flore 
moved  off,  saying  to  herself,  "  If  she  mind  to  brun  her 
fingers,  dat  none  of  my  bizzens." 

Left  by  Flore,  Eleanor  applied  to  Mrs.  Dorothy ;  but, 
not  willing  to  infringe  on  the  injunction  in  regard  to  the 
curtain,  she  merely  asked,  pointing  to  the  picture,  who 
the  person  was. 

Mrs.  Dorothy  looked  all  round,  as  if  unwilling  to  be 
overheard,  and  then  said,  "I  do  not  know  certainly,  miss, 
but  I  believe  'tis  Master  Philip's  father." 

"But  why,  then,  covered?"  persisted  Eleanor. 

"Why,  you  must  know,  miss,  some  things  happened 
before  I  came  to  live  here.  Master  Philip  was  then  a 
little  child,  and  his  parents  were  both  dead.  It  is  such 
a  sorrowful  story  that  no  one  cares  to  talk  about  it,  and 
so,  I  suppose,  they  cover  the  picture." 

"What  story?"  asked  Eleanor,  much  interested; 
"there  is  no  objection  to  its  being  told,  is  there?" 

"Oh  no,  miss!  there  is  no  secret.     I  wonder  you 


A  PEEP  AT  THE  PAST.  211 

shouldn't  know  all  about  it,  being  in  the  family ;  but,  I 
suppose,  being  disagreeable,  there  was  no  use  talking  of 
it.  Master  Philip — for  his  name  was  Philip  too — the 
father  of  this  one,  and  his  wife,  lived  here  with  the  old 
gentleman,  and  he  was  much  thought  of,  and  his  wife 
too.  He  was  a  great  sportsman,  like  his  son,  but  not  so 
good-natured.  He  was,  by  all  accounts,  more  passionate 
than  the  old  gentleman !"  added  Mrs.  Dorothy,  with  a 
look  like  a  note  of  admiration.  "Well,  there  lived  in 
the  neighborhood  a  young  farmer  by  the  name  of  Kline. 
Now  this  man  and  Mr.  Philip  were  quite  friends,  because 
Kline's  mother  had  wet-nursed  Mr.  Philip ;  so  they  were 
foster-brothers,  you  know. 

"  But  Mr.  Philip  had  a  proud,  overbearing  way,  and 
Kline,  too,  was  high-tempered ;  and  it  happened,  unfor 
tunately,  that  Mr.  Philip's  dogs  got  into  Kline's  corn  and 
wheat  fields.  Kline  complained,  but  Mr.  Philip  made 
very  light  of  it.  They  did  it  again,  and  with  a  good 
deal  of  damage ;  and  then  Kline,  instead  of  coming  and 
stating  his  loss — for  which  he  would  have  got  compensa 
tion,  of  course — sent  a  threatening  message  that  he  would 
take  the  law  of  him,  and  kill  his  dogs  if  he  ever  caught 
them  on  his  land  again.  Mr.  Philip,  at  this,  flew  into  a 
passion  and  sent  back  a  fiery  answer ;  and  the  next  day 
went  in  that  direction,  just  as  if  on  purpose  to  dare  the 
man.  The  dogs  got  in  again,  and  this  time  attacked 
Kline's  hogs,  upon  which  he  rushed  out  with  his  gun  to 
defend  his  property.  He  then,  being  terribly  angry, 
met  Mr.  Philip  coming,  as  was  afterward  supposed,  to 
call  off  his  dogs ;  but  this  Kline  did  not  understand,  so 
he  made  straight  at  them  and  leveled  his  gun,  when  Mr. 
Philip  caught  his  arm,  and  a  scuffle  ensued.  At  this 
moment  a  couple  of  men  came  up,  but  too  late  to  pre 
vent  trouble,  for  the  gun  was  discharged,  and  Mr.  Philip 
fell.  Kline  ran  off  and  hid  himself,  and  Mr.  Philip  was 


212  WALTER  THORNLEY;    OR, 

placed  on  a  litter  and  brought  home.  The  first  ttie  fam 
ily  knew  of  it  was  seeing  him  borne  into  the  house, 
bleeding  and  dying,  and  the  first  person  to  meet  him 
was  his  poor  young  wife,  then  very  near  her  time.  She 
fainted,  was  seized  with  convulsions,  and,  after  giving 
birth  to  her  son,  died  within  a  few  hours  of  her  hus 
band." 

"  Dreadful !"  exclaimed  Eleanor ;  "  and  what  became 
of  Kline?" 

_ "  Oh,  the  country  was  all  alive  about  it !  The  qual 
ity  took  it  up  because  Mr.  Philip  was  one  of  them,  and 
the  rest  because,  for  all  fee  was  proud,  yet  he  was  so  free 
hearted  and  manly  that  every  body  liked  him.  But, 
while  they  were  searching  for  Kline,  he  came  and  sur 
rendered  himself.  He  said  he  might  as  well  die  as  live, 
for  he  should  never  have  another  happy  day  again ;  but 
he  persisted  in  his  innocence,  and  that  the  gun  had  gone 
off  by  accident.  But  it  was  said  that  he  had  used  threats 
against  Mr.  Philip  as  well  as  the  dogs ;  and  the  men  who 
happened  to  be  on  the  spot,  when  he  was  put  on  his  tri 
al,  appeared  against  him ;  so  he  was  convicted  of  mur 
der." 

"  Oh,  horrible !"  exclaimed  Eleanor;  "and  executed?" 
"No,  miss;  but  it  was  all  owing  to  your  grandfather 
that  he  was  not." 

"  My  grandfather !  the  person  most  injured !" 
"  Yes,  miss ;  for  though,  as  they  say,  when  Mr.  Law 
rence's  pride  is  up  he  never  yields,  this  was  a  different 
case.  Here  the  foundation  of  his  pride  was  taken  from 
under  him — his  heart  was  broken ;  and  perhaps,  too,  he 
thought  that  God  had  a  controversy  with  him.  At  any 
rate,  he  was  not  satisfied  with  the  testimony ;  said  his 
poor  son  had  brought  his  death  on  himself;  and  when 
the  mother  of  Kline  fell  on  her  knees  and  begged  him 
to  save  one  who  had  lain  on  the  same  bosom,  had  drawn 


A  PEEP  AT  THE   PAST.  213 

from  the  same  breast,  and  slept  in  the  same  cradle  with 
Mr.  Philip,  the  old  gentleman  could  not  stand  it,  but  got 
up  a  petition  to  the  governor,  and  signed  it  himself,  and 
Kline  was  pardoned." 

"  And  what  became  of  him  ?" 

.  "Your  grandfather,  though  he  had  saved  his  life, 
could  not  hear  his  name  without  a  shudder,  nor  bear 
the  thought  of  ever  seeing  him ;  so  he  got  a  friend  of 
his  to  advise  with  Kline  for  the  best  arrangement  of  his 
property,  and  he  sold  out  and  moved  off  where  nothing 
more  is  heard  of  him  here." 

"  Dear  grandpapa  1"  said  Eleanor ;  "  I  am  so  glad  that 
he  was  merciful." 

"Oh,  miss,  he  does  many  a  good  thing.  I  wish  ev 
ery  one  that  had  his  means  had  his  will.  There  was 
Mrs.  Dale,  the  little  English  Quaker  woman  at  the  mill 
— that  was  after  I  came,  and  I  know  all  about  it.  She 
was  very  poorly,  in  a  sort  of  decline,  and  he  had  her 
brought  here,  and  Miss  Gertrude  nursed  her  as  if  she 
had  been  a  sister.  She  was  confined  here,  and  finally, 
after  being  here  a  whole  year,  died.  Many  a  time  I've 
seen  Mr.  Lawrence  sit  by  her  bed,  as  she  grew  worse, 
and  hold  her  hand,  try  to  comfort  her,  and  talk  to  her 
like  a  domine.  They  kept  the  little  girl  she  left  till 
she  was  three  years  old,  and  after  that  she  used  to  come 
to  Miss  Gertrude  to  be  taught." 

"  Where  is  she  now  ?" 

"  At  home  with  her  father.  She  has  not  been  here 
lately,  or  I  should  have  showed  her  to  you,  for  she  is  a 
nice  young  woman ;  but  she  does  not  have  much  time, 
I  suppose,  to  go  out." 

"Poor  Aunt  Gertrude!"  sighed  Eleanor,  as  she  re 
flected  on  what  she  had  heard.  "  Poor  Aunt  Gertrude! 
No  wonder  she  looks  sad  sometimes." 

"  Yes,  indeed,  miss ;  it  was  a  sad  business — to  think 


214  WALTER  THOENLEY;  OB, 

of  Mr.  Philip,  and  his  pretty  young  wife,  lying  both  to 
gether  in  the  dood-Jcamer" 

"  Dood-Jcamer  /"  repeated  Eleanor. 

"Yes,  miss;  that  is  the  death-chamber.  You  know 
about  that,  I  suppose  ?" 

"  I  have  heard  of  such  a  thing,  but  I  thought  it  done 
away  with  long  ago." 

"  Oh  no ;  it  may  be  down  in  York,  but  it  isn't  here." 

"Here I  Do  you  mean  to  say  there  is  still  such  a 
chamber  here?" 

"Certainly,  miss;  and  the  best  room  in  the  whole 
house.  Haven't  you  seen  a  door  on  the  left  hand  side 
of  the  portaal?  'Tis  always  shut,  but  you  may  have  ob 
served  it.  "Well,  that  opens  into  an  entry  that  leads  to 
the  dood-Jcamer.  At  the  end  of  the  entry  is  another 
door,  through  which  the  dead  are  carried  to  their  burial. 
They  say  that,  in  old  times,  in  Holland,  the  young  mar 
ried  couple  used  to  enter  their  new  house  by  such  a 
door,  which  they  never  passed  again  till  they  were  taken 
out  feet  foremost.  My  mother  was  Dutch,  and  so  I  have 
heard  all  about  their  strange  ways:  their  * dood-koeks? 
and  spiced  wines  sent  round  at  their  funerals,  and  to 
friends  who  could  not  attend ;  and  the  shrouds  among 
the  bridal  clothes." 

"Oh!"  exclaimed  Eleanor,  with  almost  a  shriek; 
"  what  do  you  mean,  Mrs.  Dorothy  ?" 

"Just  what  I  say,  miss.  Your  grandmamma,  pretty 
as  she  looks  there,  in  her  wedding-dress,  I  have  heard 
say  her  shroud  was  waiting  for  her  at  that  very  time, 
and  she  was  buried  in  it.  And  your  grandfather,  to 
this  day,  every  year  orders  his  given  to  him  at  the  same 
time,  to  be  washed  and  bleached,  that  it  may  be  in  readi 
ness  when  wanted." 

"  Well,  /  never  would  be  married  if  there  were  such 
awful  customs  now." 


A  PEEP  AT  THE  PAST.  215 

Mrs.  Dorothy  "  smiled  superior." 

"You  think  so,  miss,  I  dare  say;  but  young  ladies 
do  get  over  almost  every  thing  rather  than  not  be 
married." 

Eleanor's  thoughts  again  turned  to  the  picture. 

"  And  so  they  covered  it,  you  think,  to  shut  out  pain 
ful  ideas." 

"  Yes,  miss,  I  suppose  so ;  because  I  never  heard  any 
reason  given  for  it." 

"  But  I  should  not  think  it  would  have  that  effect.  I 
am  sure,  with  me,  it  would  only  serve  to  keep  them  for 
ever  in  my  mind." 

"  Perhaps  so,  miss.  But  people  are  different.  Some 
expect  to  shut  out  trouble  by  closing  their  lips  and  eyes, 
while  others  empty  their  hearts  of  it  by  speaking." 

"  But  you  know,"  said  Eleanor,  involuntarily  making 
a  personal  application  of  this  last  remark,  "there  may  be 
trouble  of  which  one  can  not  speak;"  to  which  Mrs. 
Dorothy  replied  by  an  unsuspecting  assent,  and  Eleanor 
left  the  hall. 


216  WALTER  THORNLEY;  OR, 


CHAPTER  XX. 

THE  finest  days  of  autumn  came,  and  Master  Philip, 
who  was  companionable  as  well  as  polite,  was  always 
contriving  new  pleasures  for  Eleanor.  A  year  before, 
and  he  would  have  probably  made  rapid  progress  in  her 
favor ;  but  she  had  now  a  higher  standard.  Still,  the 
freemasonry  of  youth,  which  readily  discovers  points 
of  sympathy,  and  the  absence  of  other  society  near  her 
own  age,  rendered  him  quite  acceptable. 

She  loved  music,  so  did  he ;  and  with  his  flute,  or  as 
a  good  second,  was  always  ready  to  accompany  her. 
She  loved  the  country  too,  as  he  did ;  and,  in  a  little 
while,  learned  to  take  an  interest  in  his  sports,  to  caress 
his  dogs,  and  to  rejoice  over  his  full  bag  of  game,  as  a 
testimony  to  his  skill.  She  even  condescended  to  take 
a  few  lessons.  She  could  not,  indeed,  be  induced  to 
take  the  life  of  a  bird,  but  she  consented  to  be  instruct 
ed  in  target-shooting;  and,  with  female  inconsistency, 
though  so  tender  toward  the  feathered  creation,  had  no 
distresses  about  fish;  for,  while  she  would  on  no  ac 
count  bait  the  line,  yet,  if  cousin  Phil  prepared  and  put 
the  rod  into  her  hand,  she  had  sufficient  nerve  to  hold 
it,  and  in  time  became  as  ambitious  of  a  nibble  as  the 
most  hard-hearted  angler.  Then  Master  Philip  was  an 
accomplished  horseman ;  for 

"  Skill  to  ride,  a  science  seems 
Proper  to  gentle  blood;" 

and,  although  inexperienced  herself,  yet,  under  his  tu 
ition,  when  mounted  on  Fairy — a  spirited  little  pony  her 
grandfather  had  given  her — she  soon  learned  to  keep 
her  seat  with  a  courage  and  grace  that  delighted  the 


A  PEEP  AT  THE   PAST.  217 

old  gentleman ;  who  then,  as  at  whatever  else  she  did 
that  was  commendable,  never  failed  to  exclaim,  some 
times  with  a  sigh,  sometimes  with  a  smile,  "Just  like 
mammatje!  just  like  mammatje!" 

The  nutting  season  came;  and  the  brightly-tinted 
woods,  the  clear  skies,  and  exhilarating  air  invited  ev 
ery  one  to  the  gathering  of  the  autumn's  fruitage,  "  ripe 
down-pattering."  Even. Miss  Lawrence  could  not  resist 
it;  and  with  Eleanor,  Philip,  and  a  troop  of  darkies, 
down  to  Mink  junior,  three  years  old,  who  occasionally 
required  a  lift,  set  forth  to  a  beautiful  grove,  within 
walking  distance,  of  walnuts — called  there  kriskotomas 
nuts — and  chestnuts. 

The  trees  were  loaded ;  and  the  opening  shells  and 
burrs  that  Jack  Frost  had  cracked  for  them  wanted  but 
a  touch  to  send  a  rattling  shower  to  the  ground.  Pomp 
was  ordered  up  to  shake  the  upper  boughs ;  the  children 
clutched  at  the  lower  ones ;  and  Master  Philip  himself, 
always  ready  for  any  physical  exertion,  sprang  into  a 
fine  large  tree,  near  which  the  ladies  were  standing,  and 
shook  it  with  such  effect  that  they  were  compelled  to 
retreat.  Soon  all  hands  were  busy,  and  the  fruit  was 
worth  the  labor;  not  such  as  people  are  often  content 
with  nowadays,  but  walnuts  worthy  of  primeval  trees, 
and  chestnuts  so  large  and  plump  as  to  give  significance 
to  the  saying  of  the  little  negroes,  "  De  middle  one  de 
ox,  and  de  oders  de  cows" — information  given  to  "  young 
missis,"  but,  of  course,  utterly  unintelligible.  It  was, 
indeed,  a  simple  pleasure,  but  Eleanor  did  not,  therefore, 
like  it  the  less.  The  merry,  musical  negro  voices  alter 
nating  scraps  of  song  with  shouts  of  rejoicing,  as  from 
time  to  time  they  found  more  than  they  expected ;  their 
mutual  good  offices — the  older  helping  the  younger,  es 
pecially  little  Mink,  who,  with  an  uncommon  pair  of 
bandy  legs,  describing,  in  his  advance,  rather  circles  than 

K 


218  WALTER  THORNLEY;   OR, 

straight  lines,  could  not  well  compete  with  the  rest — to 
gether  with  their  frequent  cautions  to  "young  missis" 
not  to  "  cratch  her  fing-ers  wid  de  buz,"  furnished  her 
much  amusement. 

It  was  an  established  privilege  that,  after  the  family 
was  furnished  with  nuts  for  the  winter,  the  negroes  were 
to  take  the  rest,  for  which  they  found  a  ready  market, 
their  master's  summer  visitors  often  engaging  a  supply 
of  them.  On  this  occasion  Miss  Lawrence  directed  the 
young  ones  to  anticipate  the  gleaning,  and  fill  their 
aprons  and  baskets  for  themselves,  kindly  contributing 
all  that  she  had  gathered  to  their  store,  adding,  "  'Tis  a 
holiday  for  Miss  Eleanor,  you  know,  and  must  be  all 
play  and  no  work,"  at  which  there  was  a  general  cara 
coling,  heels  higher  than  heads,  and  a  unanimous  "  Hi ! 
for  young  missis !" 

Miss  Lawrence  soon  wearied ;  but,  unwilling  to  cur 
tail  the  pleasure  of  the  rest,  seated  herself  a  little  apart, 
and  was  occupied  in  forming  a  wreath  of  the  bright 
autumn  leaves  strewn  around  her,  which,  when  Eleanor 
came  in  triumph  to  exhibit  her  full  basket,  she  placed 
on  her  head. 

"  A  Koman,  you  know,  my  dear,"  said  she,  playfully, 
"was  crowned  if  he  saved  the  life  of  a  fellow-citizen. 
Let  me  then  crown  you  for  infusing  a  new  life  into  me." 

Eleanor  kissed  her  aunt  affectionately,  but  she  per 
ceived  that,  though  she  smiled,  it  was  sadly,  and  that 
she  averted  her  eyes,  as  if  they  might  betray  her. 

Eleanor  looked  inquiringly,  and  Miss  Lawrence  at 
length  said,  "7Tis  nothing  dear — only  thoughts  of  other 
days.  'Tis  long  since  I  went  a  nutting — I — I  was  only 
thinking  of  those  who  gathered  with  me — and  who,  like 
myself,  have  gathered  many  a  sorrow  too.  But  come," 
added  she,  rising,  and  speaking  more  cheerfully,  "let  us 
return  to  papa ;  he  will  want  to  hear  of  our  success ;  and 


A  PEEP  AT  THE   PAST.  219 

wear  your  wreath,  too,  dear,  for  lie  loves  to  see  you  look 
pretty." 

"  And  how  could  she  ever  look  otherwise  ?"  said  Mas 
ter  Philip,  gazing  at  her  admiringly.  uBut  stay,  Ele 
anor,  let  me  have  the  honor  of  adding  one  leaf  to  your 
wreath — this  bright  sumach." 

"Oh  no!"  said  Eleanor,  shrinking.  "  They  tell  me 
'tis  poison." 

"  No,  no,  not  this  kind,"  and  Philip  proceeded  to  en 
twine  it  with  the  others. 

"No,  indeed,  Phil,  that  would  never  do,"  said  Miss 
Lawrence,  tapping  him  on  the  shoulder.  "  Heaven  for 
bid  that  you  should  bestow  a  fated  crown  on  her!" 

Master  Philip  became  embarrassed,  colored ;  his  fin 
gers  seemed  to  fail  of  their  accustomed  adroitness ;  the 
leaves  would  not  lie  as  he  wished,  and  his  aunt,  to  re 
lieve  him,  adjusted  them. 

The  next  morning,  at  breakfast,  Mr.  Lawrence  was  in 
high  good-humor.  Miss  Lawrence  not  having  yet  ap 
peared,  he  called  on  Eleanor  for  his  coffee,  and  cracked 
jokes  with  her  and  Master  Philip  till  the  entrance  of 
Aunt  Flore,  with  a  tray,  and  a  request  for  a  cup  of 
tea  for  Miss  Gertrude,  "  and,"  as  she  rather  pointedly 
added,  "  nuffin  else." 

The  old  gentleman's  countenance  changed,  and  he  ex 
claimed,  "  What's  the  matter  now  ?" 

"Nuffin,  massa,  only  missis  got  dreiful headache,  and 
can't  come  to  breffass." 

"  "What's  brought  that  on  ?"  he  demanded,  rather  than 
asked. 

"Dunno  know,  massa;  spose  de  same  ting." 

"What  'thing!' "  exclaimed  Mr. Lawrence,  with  rising 
anger. 

"  'Spects  massa  knows,"  answered  the  imperturbable 
Aunt  Flore. 


220  WALTER  THORNLEY;  OR, 

"  No,  massa  does  not  know.  Speak !  what  do  you 
mean  ?" 

"  Massa  knows  dose  narvous  turns  dese  years.  Eber 
since  massa — " 

"  Oh,  yes,  I  dare  say,"  hastily  interrupting  her ;  "nerv 
ous  turns,  and  massa  of  course  to  blame.  Take  your 
tray,  and  go!  But  hark  ye,  Flore,  tell  your  mistress 
that,  if  she  does  not  come  down  to  dinner,  I'll  quit  the 
house  for  six  months — for  a  year — forever!"  continued 
he,  with  voice  " crescendo" 

"  Yes,  massa,"  and  Flore  slowly  retreated. 

Mr.  Lawrence  rose,  his  coffee  and  muffin  untasted, 
and,  crossing  his  hands  behind  him,  walked  up  and  down 
the  room,  with  a  pace  and  countenance  showing  great 
and  angry  disturbance. 

Eleanor  was  mute  with  surprise.  Thus  far  he  had 
been  so  kind,  caressing,  cheerful,  even  gay,  and  good- 
humored  to  all,  that  she  had  begun  to  think  the  accounts 
of  his  temper  greatly  exaggerated ;  but  this  strange  and 
unreasonable  resentment  toward  dear  Aunt  Gertrude, 
merely  for  having  a  headache,  justified  all  she  had  heard. 
She  looked  at  Master  Philip,  but  he  very  composedly  con 
tinued  to  eat  his  breakfast,  not  at  all  moved  or  surprised 
at  what,  to  her,  seemed  so  unaccountable.  At  length, 
mustering  courage,  she  said,  in  order  to  break  the  dis 
tressing  silence,  "  Grandpapa,  your  coffee  is  cold ;  let  me 
give  you  another  cup.  Aunt  Gertrude  will  soon  be  bet 
ter,  I  dare  say ;  only  a  little  fatigued  with — " 

But  he  turned  on  her,  and  interrupted  her  almost 
fiercely,  saying,  "  You  dare  say  a  great  deal,  then.  Don't 
talk  to  me  child !  You  know  nothing  about  it.  I  have 
been  the  victim  of  these  cursed  nerves !  Never  was  a 
family  so  full  of  them !  As  sure  as  I  feel  a  little  happy, 
and  enjoy  myself,  they  must  needs  break  out !" 

Eleanor  could  not  but  think  his  message  to  her  aunt 
not  calculated  to  quiet  them. 


A  PEEP  AT  THE  PAST.  221 

"  Fatigued  yesterday!  What  was  there  to  fatigue 
her?  She  had  been  remarkably  well  of  late.  No,  it 
was  always  so ;  would  always  be  so.  His  life  had  been 
sacrificed  to  an  eternal  spirit  of  contradiction." 

"Alas!"  thought  Eleanor,  "perhaps  too  true,  poor 
grandpapa,  but  whose  fault?" 

Leaving  his  breakfast  untouched,  Mr.  Lawrence  re 
tired  to  his  room. 

"  Never  mind,  cousin,"  said  Master  Philip.  "  These 
little  flurries  soon  pass.  Our  sky  has  been  remarkably 
clear  and  quiet  since-  you  came,  and  will  be  so  again. 
The  best  way  is  never  to  speak  to  grandpapa  at  such 
times ;  nor  even  to  notice  them.  Come,  shall  I  give  you 
a  lesson  in  target-shooting?  or  will  you  exercise  Fairy 
in  a  ride  ?" 

But  Eleanor,  hoping  to  be  admitted  to  her  aunt's 
room,  declined  both.  Her  gentle  tap  at  the  door  was, 
however,  answered  by  Flore  saying  that  Miss  Gertrude 
would  see  her  by-and-by ;  and  so,  putting  on  her  bon 
net,  she  resolved  to  forget  the  clouds  that  had  gathered 
within,  by  the  contemplation  of  the  serene  beauty  with 
out.  Strolling  along  the  garden  wall  she  found  Momma 
Zip  seated  on  a  stone,  with  her  family  of  dogs  about  her, 
giving  them  their  morning  meal,  and  Eleanor,  for  want 
of  better  amusement,  stopped  to  observe  her.  With  her 
uplifted  cane  she  enforced  obedience  and  good  manners, 
not  allowing  one  to  encroach  on  the  rest.  In  the  main 
she  succeeded  very  well ;  but  Ponto,  a  pointer  of  irreg 
ular  behavior,  the  particular  aversion  of  the  house-maids, 
because  he  always  contrived  to  insinuate  himself  into 
the  nicely-arranged  spare  beds,  to  their  infinite  trouble 
and  vexation,  was,  on  this  occasion,  unruly,  and,  in  or 
der  to  secure  the  morsel  offered  to  another,  gave  him  a 
very  unfriendly  grip. 

Down  came  Momma's  baton  of  office,  with  an  angry 


222  WALTER  THORNLEY;    OR, 

expostulation,  "Fie!  shame!  hide  ye  face!  What,  lick 
ye  feller-sarbent!" 

But  the  "  fellow-servant"  retorted  the  grip,  and,  a  reg 
ular  onset  ensuing,  Zip  was  compelled  to  rise,  and,  mak 
ing  good  use  of  her  cane,  restored  order.  She  then  first 
perceived  "young  missis,"  and,  courtesying,  was  going 
away  as  usual,  when  Eleanor  addressed  her. 

"Good-morning,  Momma;  your  children  have  been 
naughty,  I  see.  Are  you  often  obliged  to  punish  them  ?" 

But  with  a  displeased  look,  and  a  shake  of  her  head, 
she  replied,  "No  pickaninnies — sarbents,  like  Zip.  Pick 
aninnies" — with  an  appropriate  gesture — "far  off!  gone ! 
gone !" 

Then,  turning  away,  she  sung,  to  a  native  air,  words 
she  had  caught,  probably  because  applying  to  her 
self: 

"Oh  !  red  was  de  sun  on  dat  dark,  drefful  day, 
When  de  Buckras  dey  stole  poor  Ora  away ! 
De  pickaninnies  cry,  and  de  blud  it  did  run : 
Oh !  dark  was  dat  day,  and  red  was  dat  sun !" 

and,  still  retreating  toward  the  house,  she  continued  to 
sing,  and  Eleanor  to  listen,  till  the  air  died  away. 

"Poor  Momma!"  she  said,  kindly.  "She  will  not 
call  the  dogs  her  children ;  that  name  belongs  to  those 
far  away.  These  are  but  fellow-servants,  like  herself. 
Poor  old  soul !  Now  there  is  a  heart  that  has  a  history  ! 
who  can  tell  it?  not  even  herself.  But  God  has  writ 
ten  it  in  his  Book." 

The  morning  passed  rather  heavily  without  Aunt 
Gertrude,  and  no  summons  came  from  her  till  near  the 
dinner-hour,  when,  to  Eleanor's  surprise,  she  found  her 
up  and  dressed.  To  her  exclamation  Miss  Lawrence 
quietly  answered,  "  Poor  papa  would  be  so  harassed  by 
my  absence  that  I  ought  to  go  down.  Don't  say  any 
thing  about  it,  dear,  nor  allude  to  my  headache;  it  is 


A  PEEP  AT  THE  PAST.  223 

nearly  gone.  I  shall  soon  be  released  and  return  to  my 
room." 

The  family  met  as  usual — no  questions  and  no  ex 
planations.  Aunt  Gertrude,  as  always,  was  gentle  and 
kind,  though  an  occasional  contraction  of  her  brow 
showed  her  head  not  yet  at  ease,  and  Eleanor  saw  that 
the  meal  was,  with  her,  a  mere  form;  but  grandpapa 
was  restored  to  good-humor,  and  the  little  disturbance 
of  the  morning  forgotten. 

"  How  strange !"  thought  Eleanor.  "  I  do  really  be 
lieve  grandpapa  loves  Aunt  Gertrude  better  than  all  the 
world,  and  yet  he  is  more  unreasonable  to  her  than  to 
any  one  else.  If  she  does  but  look  grave,  or  is  not  quite 
well,  he  is  worried  to  death,  though  it  seems  to  make 
him  more  angry  than  sorry.  Any  one  would  suppose 
that,  if  she  did  not  always  smile,  he  thought  it  a  re 
proach  to  himself,  he  makes  it  such  a  personal  matter." 

Few  as  were  the  words  which  Eleanor  had  occa 
sionally  exchanged  with  Zip,  they  had  made  an  impres 
sion  on  her.  The  dullest  can  interpret  a  smile  or  a 
kind  look.  Her  youth  was,  too,  an  attraction  which 
all  felt,  and  seemed  to  melt  even  the  stern  nature  of  the 
old  woman,  who,  the  next  day,  to  Eleanor's  surprise,  ap 
peared  in  her  room.  She  had  in  her  hand  a  roll  of 
"  hum-hum,"  a  cotton  cloth  then  in  common  use. 

This  she  unfolded  with  much  formality,  and  Eleanor 
wondered  what  was  coming.  "When  spread,  it  appear 
ed  to  be  a  sheet;  and,  taking  up  a  corner  of  it,  she 
made  signs — which  she  generally  preferred  to  speech ; 
but  Eleanor,  unable  to  comprehend,  could  only  say, 
"Well,  Momma,  what  do  you  wish?" 

She  repeated  the  signs,  and  then  added,  "  Missis,  you 
mark  dis?" 

"  Mark  it  ?     Yes ;  for  whom  ?  and  why  ?" 

"  For  Zip,  missis." 


224 

Eleanor  still  looking  puzzled,  she  had  again  recourse 
to  signs.  Measuring  a  space  of  five  or  six  feet  in 
length  on  the  floor,  by  two  or  three  in  width,  she  took 
the  cloth,  and,  wrapping  it  round  her,  lay  down  on  the 
spot  she  had  defined,  and  closed  her  eyes. 

Eleanor  caught  a  glimpse  of  her  meaning.  "  A  grave 
and  a  winding-sheet !"  exclaimed  she ;  "  can  she  mean 
that?" 

"Yes,  yes,  missis,"  said  Momma,  quickly,  and  rising; 
"for  Zip— for  me." 

"  And  I  am  to  put  your  name  in  the  corner?" 

"Yes,  missis." 

"Zilpah?" 

"  No,  no,  missis,"  she  interrupted  hastily  and  impera 
tively — "no  Zip"  Pointing  upward  with  an  earnest 
look,  "Pickaninnies  up  dere  not  know  Zilpah — ole 
ooman  now.  No,  no — Oral  Ora!"  Then,  falling  into 
the  burden  of  her  favorite  song,  she  proceeded  in  a  mel 
ancholy  strain, 

"Oh !  red  was  de  sun,  and  dark  was  de  day, 
When  de  Buckras  dey  stole  poor  Ora  away ! 

No,  no  Zip :  Ora,  missis." 

"  Ah !  yes,"  said  Eleanor,  "  I  understand.  Yes,  I  will 
do  it;"  and,  with  repeated  courtesies,  the  old  woman 
left  her. 

"Poor  Momma!"  thought  Eleanor,  "she  has  never 
puzzled  herself  with  the  questions,  *  How  are  the  dead 
raised  ?  and  with  what  body  do  they  come  ?'  Her  mind 
goes  no  farther  than  the  restoration  of  her  present  one, 
poor  and  decrepit  as  it  is.  Her  only  trouble  is  that,  old 
and  altered,  her  children  will  not  know  her  except  by 
the  name  she  bore  to  them.  Well,  she  has  an  idea  that 
fills  her  present  capacities,  and  is  satisfied — more  than 
many  wiser  ones  can  say." 


A  PEEP  AT  THE  PAST.  225 


CHAPTER  XXI. 

A  NEW  circumstance  added  to  Mr.  Lawrence's  satis 
faction  in  his  granddaughter.  For  some  time  a  weak 
ness  in  one  of  his  eyes  had  nearly  deprived  him  of  the 
use  of  both.  He  had  struggled  against  the  infirmity 
with  his  usual  persistence ;  but  he  was  at  length  obliged 
to  yield,  and  have  a  reader.  Master  Philip  did  not  quite 
please  him.  "  He  rattled  on  so  fast  that  it  took  away 
his  breath  to  follow  him."  He  would  not  tax  his  daugh 
ter's  strength,  and  Eleanor,  therefore,  was  appointed  to 
the  office,  which  she  discharged  so  as  entirely  to  satisfy 
him.  Being  thus  brought  into  a  closer  intercourse,  she 
became  so  endeared  and  important  to  her  grandfather, 
that,  when  a  letter  from  her  mother  hinted  at  her  return, 
he  sent  an  absolute  refusal ;  and,  moreover,  a  demand 
for  their  surrender  of  her  for  the  rest  of  the  year,  "  in 
deed,  he  did  not  know  that  he  would  ever  give  her  up." 

Unwilling  to  revive  a  resentment  so  lately  appeased, 
Mr.  and  Mrs.  Meredith  consented  for  the  present,  and 
Eleanor,  conscious  of  the  happiness  she  bestowed,  ac 
quiesced  cheerfully  in  their  decision.  Perhaps  she 
thought  of  her  pleasant  cotillon  parties,  but  it  was  a 
momentary  regret;  the  past  had  deeper  interests,  and 
she  almost  dreaded  to  return  to  scenes  that  would  so 
forcibly  renew  them.  Checking  feelings  she  must  not 
indulge,  she  turned  again  to  the  details  of  her  mother's 
letter.  "  And  so,"  she  reflected,  "  the  Middletons  are  to 
pass  the  winter  at  the  south,  and  Captain  Talbot  has  just 
sailed  for  England,  to  return  next  spring.  How  he  does 
fly  about!  Well,  he  is  a  pleasant  person,  and  when  I 
am  with  him  I  think  I  like  him;  but,  somehow,  I  am 

K2 


226 

never  the  wiser  or  better  for  any  thing  he  says.  What 
is  the  reason  ?  Heigh-ho !  Walter  would  say  that  it  is 
because  he  has  no  faith  in  goodness.  If  he  praises,  'tis 
ironically.  More  frequently  he  finds  it  only  selfishness 
well  disguised." 

And  now  came  the  dark  November  days,  and  out-of- 
door  pleasures  yielded  to  the  bustle  which  at  that  season 
reigned  in  every  Dutch  establishment.  All  hands,  young 
and  old,  found  employment ;  and  a  suite  of  .cellar  rooms 
were  devoted  to  the  various  cares  of  cutting  up  and 
packing  beef  and  pork,  and  making  an  incredible  amount 
of  sausages,  rolletjes,  headcheese,  souse,  etc.,  etc.  Abund 
ance  reigned  throughout ;  the  full  and  generous  house 
keeping  recalling  the  times  of  the  old  Saxons ;  and  large 
baskets  of  provisions  were  distributed  among  less  pros 
perous  neighbors. 

Had  it  not  been  for  certain  sounds  of  woe  that  found 
their  way  to  Eleanor,  she  would  have  better  enjoyed  the 
prevailing  activity  and  excitement.  Alas !  that  we  can 
not  import  humanities  as  readily  as  fashions.  Even  at 
this  day,  when  animals,  reposing  under  the  shade  of  lilacs 
and  laburnums,  within  the  abattoirs  of  Paris,  are  gently 
led  off  to  their  doom,  neither  terrified,  beaten,  nor  con 
scious  of  their  impending  fate,  which  an  instant  seals, 
we  continue  the  barbarous  customs  of  our  ancestors; 
and  the  blood  of  helpless  animals  cries  from  the  ground 
against  us,  not  because  we  take  life  necessarily,  but  de 
stroy  it  mercilessly. 

This  busy  season  over,  one  morning,  as  Eleanor  sat 
reading  to  her  grandfather,  a  man  drove  up  to  the  door, 
having  a  young  negro  girl  with  him.  They  alighted; 
and,  while  the  girl  was  taken  into  the  housekeeper's 
room  to  warm  herself,  the  man  was  ushered  into  the 
presence  of  Mr.  Lawrence. 

His  appearance  was  not  prepossessing ;  his  business 


A  PEEP  AT  THE  PAST.  227 

less  so.  This  was  to  inquire  if  Mr.  Lawrence  would  pur 
chase  the  girl  whom  he  had  brought  with  him. 

Mr.  Lawrence  peremptorily  refused.  "He  never 
meant,  with  his  own  consent,  to  own  another  black." 
He  was  told  that  she  was  to  be  sold  only  for  seven  years ; 
but  he  was  equally  immovable.  Whereupon  the  man 
proceeded  to  say  that  "he  did  not  care  to  part  with  her, 
but  that  she  was  an  obstinate  wench,  would  be  sold,  and 
would  be  sold  to  Mr.  Lawrence." 

Eleanor's  attention,  arrested  at  first,  was  now  still  more 
so ;  and,  leaving  the  parlor,  she  went  to  Mrs.  Dorothy's 
room  to  ascertain  why  the  girl  should  thus  persist  in 
the  desire  to  leave  her  present  home  and  become  the 
property  of  a  stranger.  She  found  a  gentle,  pretty  mu 
latto  girl,  apparently  fifteen  years  old,  trembling  more 
from  fear  than  cold.  She  rose  as  Eleanor  entered,  but 
did  not  speak,  though  she  cast  a  piteous  glance  into  her 
face.  In  reply  to  the  often-urged  inquiry,  "Why  she 
wished  to  be  sold  ?"  she,  after  looking  timidly  and  cau 
tiously  round,  at  length  replied,  "  'Case,  missis,  he  hard 
massa.  My  moder  is  dead,  and  my  fader  is  dead,  and 
Aunt  Jenny  is  dead.  I  got  no  broders  nor  no  sisters, 
and  massa  beats  me." 

"Beats  you!"  repeated  Eleanor,  looking  compassion 
ately  on  the  little,  delicately -made  creature,  "for  what?" 

"  'Case  I  cry,  I  'spects,  missis ;  but  I  can't  help  it ;  I 
got  no  comfort.  Oh,  do  buy  me,  missis!"  continued 
the  girl,  with  growing  hope  and  earnestness,  as  her 
heart  warmed  in  the  glow  of  Eleanor's  expressive  coun 
tenance.  "  Do,  do  buy  me ;  I'll  be  your  faitful  slave, 
you  look  so  good !  and  ebery  one  say  all  Massa  Law 
rence  sarvents  so  happy !" 

At  this  moment  the  parlor  door  opened,  and  Eleanor 
turned  away,  in  order  to  ascertain  the  final  result  of  the 
application ;  but  the  frightened  girl  clutched  her  dress, 


228  WALTKll   THORNLKY;    OR, 

and,  with  a  look  of  agony,  again  exclaimed,  "  Oh,  do 
buy  me,  missis ;  do  buy  me !  I  neber  ask  to  be  free ;  I 
sarve  you  till  my  det ;  don't  gib  me  back  to  dat  dread 
ful  massa !" 

Eleanor  endeavored  to  quiet  her;  and,  having  in 
some  measure  succeeded,  she  went  into  the  hall,  where 
she  heard  her  grandfather  absolutely  declining  the  pur 
chase,  and  the  man  gruffly  calling  for  his  property. 

Perceiving  that  no  time  was  to  be  lost,  she  hurried 
into  the  parlor,  and,  throwing  her  arms  round  Mr.  Law 
rence,  exclaimed,  in  a  tone  of  entreaty,  "Do,  dear  grand 
papa,  buy  this  poor  thing !" 

"Why,  you  foolish  child,  what  can  I  do  with  her? 
We  have  so  many  now,  they  are  only  in  each  other's 
way.  No,  no,  I  can't  think  of  it.  It  is  absurd !" 

"  But  she  is  unhappy ;  she  has  no  natural  friends,  and 
her  master  is  cruel  to  her." 

"How  do  you  know  that?" 

"  She  says  so." 

"It  is  not  likely.  A  High  Butcher  would  sooner 
risk  the  life  of  his  son  than  his  negro;  because  the 
one  might  sell  for  three  hundred  dollars,  and  the  other 
wouldn't  sell  at  all.  No,  no ;  it's  nonsense ;  I  won't  do 
it.  And,  as  to  what  she  says,  why,  they'll  all  say  that. 
Flore,  and  Minty,  and  Mink,  and  Tobe,  and  Jenny,  and 
Pomp,  and  the  devil  knows  how  many  more,  would  say 
the  same  of  me,  if  they  wanted  to  be  sold." 

"  No,  grandpapa,  you  don't  believe  that ;  besides,  they 
don't  wish  to  be  sold;  they  are  all  contented.  This 
poor  thing  wants  to  come  here  only  because  she  hears 
all  your  people  are  so  happy." 

This  last  appeal  had  some  effect ;  but  still,  the  utter 
uselessness  of  the  girl  seemed  an  insuperable  obstacle. 

"Is  there  any  thing  on  earth  for  her  to  do,  Gitty?" 
asked  Mr.  Lawrence,  in  a  despairing  tone,  of  his  daughter. 


A  PEEP  AT  THE  PAST.  229 

Miss  Lawrence — an  attentive,  but  silent  observer,  lest 
her  interference  might  rouse  the  imp  of  contradiction, 
which  she  hoped  Eleanor  would  exorcise — replied,  quiet 
ly,  "She  feared  not,  but  she  would  consult  Mrs.  Dorothy." 

"  Consult  Mrs.  Dorothy,  indeed  1"  interrupted  her  fa 
ther.  "I'd  be  glad  to  know  if  I  can't  buy  a  servant 
without  her  permission !" 

"You  do  not  understand  me,  papa.     I  meant — " 

Here  Eleanor  exclaimed,  as  she  looked  from  the  win 
dow,  "  Oh,  quick,  dear  grandpapa — speak.  The  man  is 
bringing  up  his  sleigh.  Dear  grandpapa,  have  pity  on 
her.  There !  there  he  is !  coming  into  the  house ;  he 
will  carry  her  off  directly !  Oh !  I  hear  her  sobbing 
now.  Oh,  dear,  good  grandpapa !  for  my  sake !" 

Mr.  Lawrence,  yielding  before,  at  this  gave  way  en 
tirely. 

"  For  your  sake,  then,  Eleanor ;  but  remember  I  buy 
her  for  you ;  she  is  none  of  mine.  You  must  take  all 
the  responsibility;  I'll  have  none  of  it.  There — it  is 
said.  Call  in  the  man.  The  girl  may  be  right.  He 
has  the  name  of  a  hard-tempered  man,"  continued  Mr. 
Lawrence,  seeking  an  excuse  for  what  he  considered  his 
folly. 

The  business  was  soon  settled,  the  man  off,  and  Ele 
anor  formally  invested  with  the  ownership  of  the  girl 
for  the  seven  years  next  ensuing. 

The  joy  of  the  poor  creature  can  not  be  told.  Fall 
ing  on  her  knees  to  Eleanor,  she  thanked  her,  blessed 
her,  promised  everlasting  fidelity,  wept  and  laughed  by 
turns,  and  was  at  length  led  off  to  the  kitchen  by  the 
sympathizing  negroes  who  had  gathered  round  her,  and 
who  all,  with  a  fellow-feeling,  rejoiced  in  her  deliver 
ance.  "Little  Pomp"  giving  it  as  his  "'pinion,  dat 
young  missis  from  York  was  a  lady  to  de  backbone,  and 
know'd  how  to  'spect  niggers." 


230  WALTER  THORNLEY;  OR, 

Eleanor's  new  responsibilities  were  not  small,  but  they 
were  cheerfully  undertaken.  Advised  by  her  aunt — 
who  feared  that  jealousy  might  be  awakened,  to  the  in 
jury  of  the  new-comer,  if  made  a  pet — she  avoided  that 
mistake.  After  clothing  her  properly — to  which  Ele 
anor  applied  herself  with  a  feeling  of  importance  quite 
new  to  her — she  was  anxious  to  prove  to  her  grandfa 
ther  that  the  girl  might  be  turned  to  some  use.  But 
Phyllis  had  only  lived  in  the  family  of  a  small  farmer, 
where  all  things  were  done  coarsely,  and  many  not  at 
all.  She  had,  therefore,  every  thing  to  learn,  and  Ele 
anor,  with  the  good-natured  housemaid,  had  trouble 
enough  in  her  training.  The  chief  difficulty  was  the 
girl's  eager  desire  to  obey ;  for,  under  the  rough  teach 
ings  of  Reiser's  whip,  she  had  acquired  such  habits  of 
running,  jumping,  slamming,  and  executing  imperfectly 
labors  beyond  her  strength,  that  the  nerves  and  temper 
of  Mr.  Lawrence  were  tried  beyond  his  power  of  endur 
ance,  and,  unwilling  to  consign  her  to  a  worse  place,  he 
wished  her  in  "  the  Ked  Sea"  every  day  of  his  life. 

Poor  Eleanor  saw  it  all,  and  continually  feared  an 
outbreak;  yet  such  was  the  girl's  idolatrous  gratitude 
to  herself  that  she  could  not  regret  what  she  had  done. 
Phyllis  followed  her  like  her  shadow,  stood  behind  her 
chair  at  meals,  watched  like  a  dog  every  movement  of 
her  eye  in  anticipation  of  her  slightest  wish,  and  asked 
no  other  pleasure  than  to  wait  upon  her. 

If  Eleanor  missed  her  thimble  or  scissors  from  its  ac 
customed  place,  or  if  book,  basket,  or  handkerchief  were 
forgotten,  Phyllis  seemed  to  divine  the  want ;  and,  fly 
ing  up  stairs,  tearing  through  entries  and  rooms,  would 
come  with  the  quickness  of  thought — not  seldom  head 
before  heels — into  the  parlor  with  the  required  article. 
She  could  always  find.  That  was  her  "specialty;"  but 
to  bring  without  slip  or  breakage  was  another  matter. 


A  PEEP  AT  THE   PAST.  231 

Her  unfortunate  tendencies  in  this  way  brought  about 
the  crisis  Eleanor  had  so  much  dreaded. 

Pomp  meeting  Phyllis,  his  hands  full,  preparing  for 
the  tea-table,  to  relieve  himself,  in  an  evil  hour  intrusted 
her  with  the  basket  of  china.  Always  pleased  to  be 
busy,  she  started  as  usual,  and,  gaining  impetus  as  she 
went,  reached  the  parlor  just  in  time  to  precipitate  her 
self,  basket,  and  contents  at  Mr.  Lawrence's  feet ;  who, 
rudely  roused  from  a  comfortable  nap  in  his  arm-chair 
by  the  crash,  opened  his  eyes,  with  every  nerve  ajar, 
to  see  the  carpet  strewn  with  fragments. 

"Not  master  of  himself  when  china  fell,"  he  started 
up,  and,  seizing  a  riding-whip  unhappily  left  out  of 
place  on  a  table  near  him,  he  darted  toward  the  terri 
fied  girl,  bent  on  punishment.  Just  at  that  moment 
Eleanor,  alarmed  by  the  noise,  and  fearing  the  truth, 
entered  the  room. 

Bushing  behind  her  young  mistress,  who,  spreading 
her  arms  and  skirts,  presented  a  protecting  front,  Phyl 
lis  avoided  the  first  onset.  But,  irritated  by  opposition, 
his  anger  beyond  control,  her  master  continued  the  pur 
suit,  striking  at  random,  with  violent  threats  and  denun 
ciations  more  injurious  than  his  ill-directed  whip. 

Eleanor,  shocked  and  alarmed,  besought  for  mercy 
and  forgiveness ;  but,  finding  herself  unheeded,  she  sud 
denly  exclaimed,  with  an  energy  and  resolution  inspired 
by  compassion,  "I  will  not  have  her  whipped!  She  is 
mine  !  she  is  mine,  I  say !  She  shall  not  be  touched !" 

Her  manner  arrested  Mr.  Lawrence  instantly ;  and, 
with  one  of  those  alternations  to  which  his  impulsive 
nature  was  subject,  he  threw  away  the  whip,  burst  into 
a  laugh,  and,  throwing  himself  into  his  chair,  cried  out, 
"Why,  you  little  jade!  do  you  dare  to  brave  your 
grandfather?" 

Making  a  signal  of  flight  to  Phyllis,  who  vanished, 


232  WALTER  THORNLEY;    OR, 

Eleanor  ran  to  Mr.  Lawrence,  and,  falling  on  her  knees, 
exclaimed,  "  Dear  grandpapa,  forgive  me.  I  fear  I  have 
said  something  very  wrong;  but  I  could  not,  indeed  I 
could  not  see  Phyllis  whipped ;  and  I  could  not  bear 
that  you  should  do  such  a  thing." 

Stooping  down,  he  kissed  her  forehead,  and  then, 
raising  her,  said,  "You  were  right,  you  were  right, 
child.  I  forgot  myself;  but  do,  c?o,  Nelly,  make  that 
huzzy  more  quiet  and  careful,  or  she  will  drive  me 
mad." 

Pomp,  present  at  the  scene,  forthwith  reported  it  in 
the  kitchen,  where  it  lost  nothing  at  his  hands,  and 
gained  great  applause  from  the  rest. 

"  I  tell  you,"  said  he,  "  yelly  neber  seed  nuinn  like  it! 
dat  ar  young  missis  is  grandashious.  I  neber  tink  she'd 
be  so  pr'umshius  to  speak  in  dat  ar  way  to  ole  massa." 

"Why,  dat  ar  jess  de  right  way,  wid  massa,"  said 
Aunt  Flore.  "I  know'd  it  alloways.  Speak  up  to 
massa,  and  he  comes  right  to  he-self.  But  'twon't  do 
try  dat  trick  berry  often,  case  he  get  used  to  it.  Oh  dear 
me !  if  Miss  Gertrude  done  so  long  ago,  she'd  be  better 
now." 

"Don't  yelly  talk  about  Miss  Gertrude,"  said  Aunt 
Minty,  taking  her  pipe  from  her  mouth;  "she  neber 
can't  be  no  better  dan  she  is ;  for  she  is  an  angel  of  de 
Lord  now." 

The  "  sense  of  the  kitchen"  being  clearly  with  Phyl 
lis,  she  was  consoled  under  her  mishap.  Another  link 
was  added  to  the  chain  which  bound  her  to  her  young 
mistress,  who  availed  herself  of  her  influence  to  make 
the  desired  impression,  and,  by  warnings,  gentle  re 
proofs,  and  exhortations,  poor  Phyllis  obtained  some 
mastery  over  her  ill-trained  feet  and  hands. 

Eleanor's  efforts  did  not  cease  here.  With  much  pa 
tience  she  attempted  the  harder  work  of  teaching  Phyl- 


A  PEEP  AT  THE   PAST.  233 

lis  to  read.  Her  progress  was  slow,  but  her  earnest  de 
sire  to  please  her  mistress  seemed  to  quicken  her  dor 
mant  faculties,  and  she  at  least  gained  new  ideas  from 
the  greater  degree  of  intercourse  with  her  young  lady 
to  which  she  was  thus  admitted.  Encouraged  by  her 
kindness,  she  would  sometimes  venture  to  speak  of  her 
former  condition,  and,  in  particular,  would  dwell  on 
"  Aunt  Jenny,"  her  only  friend  when  her  parents  died. 

"Berry  good  woman,  missis,  as  eber  was!  teached 
me  to  say  my  prars,  and  neber  tell  no  lies.  But  she 
know'd  notting,  no  more  dan  me,  out  de  book,  missis — 
on'y  in  de  heart.  She  say  nobody  eber  teached  her, 
on'y  de  Lord.  But,  for  all  she  so  good,  what  you  tink, 
missis?  de  domine  wouldn't  let  her  jine  de  Church!" 

"  Not  join  the  Church!  and  why,  Phyllis?" 

'"Case  she  didn't  know  'nufF,  missis,  de  domine  say. 
She  went  one,  two,  tree  times  to  him,  and  ebery  time  he 
turned  her  back  wid  de  same  story,  *  No,  Jenny ;  I  bery 
sorry,  bat  I  dars'n't  let  you  come  to  de  table  till  you 
answer  dem  questions  I  put  to  you.'  " 

"  Poor  Jenny !"  said  Eleanor. 

"Yes,  missis;  but  she  got  help  at  de  last,  for  when 
she  went  de  next  time,  and  he  put  her  off  jes  de  same, 
she  say,  says  she,  *  Well,  massa,  'taint  no  use  for  me  try- 
in'  any  more ;  I  shall  die  'fore  long,  for  I  am  ole  wom 
an  ;  and  when  de  Lord  say  to  me,  "  Jenny,  why  you  no 
go  to  my  table  dat  I  spread  for  you?"  I  have  notting  to 
say  but,  "  Dear  Lord,  de  domine  wouldn't  let  me."  7 
Now  when  she  said  dis,  it  struck  like  to  his  heart,  and 
he  said  right  off,  l  No,  Jenny,  you  sha'n't  neber  gib  in 
dat  'port  agin  me ;  come  to  de  table,  and  de  Lord  bress 
it  to  your  good !'" 

"And  she  did  so?" 

"Yes,  missis;  and  after  dat,  nuffin  eber  trouble  her 
any  more.  Poor  Aunt  Jenny!  she  used  to  say  she, 


234  WALTER  THORNLEY;  OB, 

couldn't  neber  larn,  but  she  could  love :  love  is  easier 
than  larn,  missis,  isn't  it?" 

"Yes,"  said  Eleanor,  "far  easier  to  such  good,  simple 
souls  as  Aunt  Jenny — much  harder  for  her  superiors : 
better,  far  better,  for  all," 


A  PEEP  AT  THE  PAST.  235 


CHAPTEK  XXII. 

AND  now  approached  the  great  festival  of  the  year — 
the  holidays,  extending  from  Christmas  eve  to  New- 
year's  day  inclusive — which,  in  accordance  with  imme 
morial  custom,  were  celebrated  with  a  fullness  of  all 
good  cheer  and  merry-making.  To  this  the  accumu 
lated  stores  of  the  preceding  month  were  designed  to 
minister,  with  the  addition  of  those  particularly  conse 
crated  to  the  time,  consisting  of  every  variety  of  flesh 
and  fish  in  season,  together  with  every  dainty  device 
of  tart,  cake,  jellies,  and  confitures,  headed  by  the  or 
thodox  mince-pie,  and  the  rear  brought  up  by  plum- 
pudding.  Those  were  the  days  of  soft  waffles — a  myth 
since  Dutch  housewives  are  extinct — oliekocks,  krullers, 
and  the  true  New-year  cake — indeed,  every  thing  "good 
for  food."  For  then,  without  dread  of  dyspepsia  or  neu 
ralgia,  in  their  many  horrid  forms,  or  any  of  the  diseases 
which  brood  like  spectres  over  our  modern  tables,  peo 
ple  ate,  rejoiced,  and  digested,  and  invited  their  friends 
to  do  the  same,  instead  of  mixing  cautions,  like  poisons, 
in  their  food.  Then,  too,  with  a  liberality  not  limited  to 
home,  chests  of  cakes,  rusks,  and  pastry  were  sent  to 
kindred  in  town,  and  "  portions  to  those  for  whom  noth 
ing  was  provided." 

Then,  too,  was  the  season  of  visits  and  wishes,  not  of 
ceremony,  but  as  a  part  of  the  gentle  charities  of  life. 
Present  ties  were  strengthened,  the  embers  of  former 
friendships  stirred,  and  many  a  spark  of  kindness  given 
out  by  the  apparently  cold  and  unpromising  mass.  Then 
the  first  day  of  the  year  was  not  so  much  glorified  by  a 
crowd  of  "  callers,"  known  only  since  the  last  rout,  as 


236  WALTER  THORNLEY;    OR, 

consecrated  by  the  sight  of  dear  familiar  faces,  and  by 
the  cordial  greetings  of  others,  who,  jostled  aside  by  the 
cares  of  the  year,  would  not  let  another  begin  without  an 
assurance  that  friends  were  not  forgotten.  Affections 
were  kept  bright,  the  rust  of  carelessness,  neglect,  or  dis 
trust  rubbed  off,  and  even  enmities  extinguished. 

In  no  house  were  all  the  observances  of  the  season 
more  scrupulously  regarded  than  in  Mr.  Lawrence's. 
The  entire  week  was  given  up  to  its  appropriate  duties 
and  pleasures.  Mr.  Lawrence,  more  than  usually  ani 
mated  and  interested  for  the  sake  of  his  granddaughter, 
would  have  every  day,  either  at  home  or  abroad,  mark 
ed  by  festivity.  Dinners  of  much  state  and  formality, 
but  with  a  good  degree  of  license  in  some  particulars, 
were  prominent  among  the  entertainments.  At  these 
the  beauty  of  Eleanor  and  the  attentions  of  Mr.  Philip 
provided  matter  of  prophetic  gossip  to  the  neighboring 
gentry,  while  Mr.  Lawrence,  en  grande  tenue,  revived  the 
glories  of  the  olden  time,  and  Miss  Lawrence,  still  lovely, 
recalled — as  a  gentleman  protested,  who  had  long  and 
unsuccessfully  worshiped  at  her  shrine — the  "days  of 
her  bloom,"  when  she  u  was  fairest  of  the  fair."  The 
ladies  retired  from  the  table  early,  but  the  gentlemen 
"  sat  long  at  the  wine."  And  it  must  be  confessed  that 
toasts,  songs,  and  stories  sometimes  verified  the  proverb 
which  saith,  "  When  wine  is  in,  wit  is  out." 

On  one  such  occasion,  the  gentlemen  being  left  to 
themselves,  and  politics  being  exhausted,  Mr.  Philip  was 
exposed  to  a  battery  of  raillery  on  the  subject  of  his  fair 
cousin,  much  to  the  delight  of  his  grandfather,  but  to  his 
own  manifest  annoyance.  To  put  a  stop  to  it,  he  readily 
complied  with  a  call  on  him  for  "  The  Twins  of  Latona;" 
and  his  fine  manly  voice  was  heard  in  the  near  drawing- 
room,  where,  through  the  frequently-opening  doors,  the 
ladies  were  made  participants  of  the  pleasure.  To  this 


A  PEEP  AT  THE   PAST.  237 

succeeded  others  by  different  gentlemen,  and,  at  length, 
"Tom  Bowling,"  sung  with  much  taste  and  feeling. 
Eleanor  caught  what  she  could ;  but,  as  the  song  ceased, 
her  sense  of  sweet  sounds  was  wounded  by  the  less  mu 
sical  tones,  in  which  a  point  was  contested  by  her  grand 
father  and  one  of  the  company. 

"I  would  like  to  know,  sir,"  said  Mr. Lawrence,  "by 
what  arithmetical  process  you  make  ninety-nine  to  be  a 
hundred.  It  would  be  a  profitable  mode  of  notation 
applied  to  some  things,  but  one  that  I  confess  I  can  not 
understand." 

The  gentleman  resisted  Mr.  Lawrence's  interpretation, 
and  they  were  both  at  once  involved  in  the  quiddities 
of  the  "  century"  question,  which  had  just  begun  to  whet 
the  ingenuity,  and  sometimes  to  ruffle  the  temper  of  the 
disputants,  even  when  "grave  and  reverend  seigniors." 
But  the  argument  was  suddenly,  and,  perhaps,  fortunate 
ly  interrupted  by  an  uproarious  burst  of 

"Here's  to  the  maiden  of  bashful  fifteen, 
Here's  to  the  widow  of  fifty ;" 

when  the  singer  was  checked  by  a  loud  call  for  "  Black- 
eyed  Susan."  But,  unaffected  by  it,  he  persisted  in  his 
first  choice,  and  proceeded — 

"Here's  to  the  charmer,  whose  dimples  we  prize, 

And  now  to  her  that  has  none,  sir ; 
Here's  to  the  girl  with  a  pair  of  blue  eyes, 
And  here's  to  the  nymph  with  but  one,  sir. 
Let  the  toast  pass, 
Drink  to  your  lass, 
I'll  warrant  she'll  prove  an  excuse  for  the  glass." 

Spirits  rose  with  voices,  as  the  song  went  on  with  its 
oft-repeated  burden,  in  which  all  joined,  till,  some  one 
wisely  moving  an  adjournment  to  the  ladies,  the  gentle 
men  left  the  u  wine-cup"  and  entered  the  drawing-room. 
Here  Mr.  Lawrence — cut  short  in  his  argument,  but  not 
silenced — resumed  it,  by  saying  to  his  antagonist, 


238 

"  If  I  owed  you  £1800,  sir,  would  you  hold  me  ac 
quitted  if  I  paid  you  £1799?" 

This,  as  the  gentleman  addressed  was  noted  for  a  care 
ful  attention  to  small  sums,  was  regarded  as  "a  hit!" 
A  laugh  ensued.  Mr.  Lawrence,  thereupon,  conceiving 
himself  the  acknowledged  victor,  magnanimously  per 
mitted  the  subject  to  drop;  a  conclusion  willingly  ac 
quiesced  in  by  the  rest,  who  found  better  entertainment 
in  the  smiles  that  greeted  their  entrance.  But,  in  some 
instances,  an  undue  exhilaration  converted  these  into 
frowns,  which  even  muddled  heads  could  understand; 
or  a  gentle  look  would  convey  a  regret  quite  as  effective. 

One  gentleman,  approaching  Eleanor,  by  whom  Mr. 
Philip  was  seated,  after  looking  into  her  face  with  a 
scrutiny  she  neither  comprehended  nor  liked,  exclaimed, 
"  Why,  Lawrence !  what  right  have  you  to  sing  about 
maidens  with  blue  eyes  ?  Miss  Meredith's  are  not  blue ; 
though  hang  me  if  I  can  tell  what  is  their  color." 

"  Pardon  me,  Mr.  Johnson,"  replied  Philip,  rather 
gravely,  "the  song,  if  I  am  not  mistaken,  was  your 


own." 


Without  noticing  the  correction,  the  gentleman  con 
tinued, 

"  They  may  be  blue  to  you,  however,  for,"  in  an  audi 
ble  whisper,  u  such  is  the  color  of  Love,  you  know." 

The  angry  glance  of  Eleanor  seemed  to  recall  him  to 
propriety,  and  he  added,  "But  I  see  that  frowns  have 
come  over  them,  like  clouds  over  the  blue  heaven,  and  I 
must  retreat." 

"  Silly  man !"  thought  she,  as  he  turned  away,  "  to  be 
putting  such  ideas  into  cousin  Phil's  head !"  But  her 
wrath  was  changed  into  a  laugh  by  a  euphuistic  ad 
dress  to  her  aunt  from  a  gentleman  who  did  not  ap 
pear  to  know  he  was  talking  nonsense,  and  who,  after 
a  string  of  compliments,  finished  by  comparing  her 


A  PEEP  AT  THE  PAST.  239 

and  her  niece  to  the  goddess  Diana  and  an  attendant 
nymph. 

"Oh  no,  my  good  sir,"  replied  Miss  Lawrence,  pre 
ferring  to  laugh  at  rather  than  to  rebuke  him  seriously ; 
"pray  adapt  your  hyperbole  to  the  taste  of  country  la 
dies,  and  let  us  be  only  '  the  young  moon  with  the  old 
one  in  her  arms.'  " 

Coffee  and  whist  brought  the  gentlemen  to  order, 
after  which  a  handsome  supper  completed  the  plentiful 
hospitality  of  the  day. 

The  eve  of  the  new  year,  by  universal  consent,  was  a 
sort  of  domestic  saturnalia,  admitting  among  masters 
and  servants  of  a  general  game  of  "  Catch  who  can." 
This  "catching,"  in  which  license  and  stratagem  were 
permitted,  the  unlearned  may  require  to  be  informed, 
consisted  in  being  the  first  to  express  the  good  wishes 
of  the  season,  subjecting  the  person  caught,  of  course,  to 
a  forfeit.  But  the  gain  was  but  a  secondary  considera 
tion.  It  was  the  triumph  of  cunning  and  quickness  that 
chiefly  excited. 

At  Mr.  Lawrence's,  each  one,  in  no  wise  wearied  with 
pleasure  or  service,  had  a  scheme,  independent  of  the 
others,  for  the  great  object  of  the  night.  Aunt  Flore 
had  appropriated  to  her  use  a  little  dark  closet  under 
the  hall  stairs,  whence,  like  a  spider  darting  from  its 
central  point  of  observation,  she  could  rush  out  on  all 
unwary  comers.  She  felt  quite  sure  of  Master  Phil  and 
Miss  Eleanor,  "  'case  dey  would  sartin  be  coming  down 
de  great  stars  to  cotch  ole  massa."  Fat  Aunt  Minty 
"  t'ought  she  would  smudder  in  dat  ar  little  hole,"  so 
she  decided  to  take  up  a  position  in  a  larger  closet,  de 
signed  for  hats,  coats,  etc.,  opening  by  a  door  into  the 
hall.  Pomp  had  given  much  consideration  to  the  per 
fecting  of  his  device.  Watching  his  opportunity,  when 
the  coast  was  clear  in  the  evening,  he  took  down  the 


24:0  WALTER  THORNLEY;  OR, 

key,  which  hung  high  up  by  the  side  of  the  door  lead 
ing  into  the  small  private  entry,  through  which  access 
was  obtained  to  the  "  dood-karner^  and,  putting  it  into 
the  lock,  turned  it. 

"  Now,"  thought  Pomp,  "  all's  ready ;  only  jess  got  to 
turn  de  handle,  and  I  inside.  No  racket  gettin'  down 
de  key ;  no  time  lost  fumblin'  'bout  de  lock.  Nobody 
neber  'spect  any  body  in  dere !  Now,  Massa  Phil,  see 
if  I  don't  cotch  you!" 

Contrivances  equally  astute  occupied  all ;  and  then, 
very  innocently  bidding  "good-night,"  every  one  re 
tired,  apparently  to  rest. 

A  little  before  midnight,  one  by  one,  all  stole  to  their 
coverts.  Pomp  greatly  congratulated  himself  on  his  till 
he  got  fairly  into  it,  when  he  began  to  feel  rather  shaky. 
Nothing  short  of  the  excitement  of  catching  Massa  Phil 
would  ever  have  tempted  him  to  put  his  carcass  into 
that  fearful  place ;  and  even  this  nearly  failed  him  when 
he  heard  a  small  noise  in  his  rear.  He  did  not  dare  to 
look  behind  him,  excusing  himself  by  the  reflection, 
"  Can't  see  nuffin — dark  as  a  pocket."  The  noise  was 
repeated,  and  Pomp  felt  much  inclined  to  abandon  his 
project,  and  cut  and  run.  But  "  No,"  thought  he,  brac 
ing  himself  up,  "  'tisn't  nuffin;  rats  and  mice,  I  s'pose, 
dey  neber  still,  always  racketin'  'roun.  One  in  Aunt 
Flore's  closet  saw  away  all  de  worl'  like  a  carpenter !  I 
tell  Aunt  Flore,"  continued  he,  trying  to  encourage  him 
self  by  a  joke,  "  I  tell  her  dat  ar  fellow  get  gran'  good 
livin'  sawin'  wood;  he!  he! — hark!  hark!  0  Lor'! 
dat  ar  berry  queer  noise !  dat  ar  no  rats !" 

A  low,  cautious  step  behind  him  confirmed  this  opin 
ion.  He  dared  not  look,  his  knees  knocked  against  each 
other,  and  with  a  desperate  effort  he  reached  out  his 
hand  for  the  door,  but,  bewildered  by  fear  and  darkness, 
could  not  find  it.  He  opened  his  lips  to  cry  "  Lor',  hab 


A  PEEP  AT  THE  PAST.  241 

marcy !"  but  his  mouth  was  stopped  by  a  hand  laid  upon 
it,  another  clutched  him  by  the  collar,  and  Master  Phil, 
half  choked  with  suppressed  laughter,  found  breath 
enough  to  say  in  an  under  tone,  "  Happy  New  Year, 
Pomp !  now  keep  quiet,  make  no  noise,  or  I'll  do  worse 
to  you." 

"Lor'  bless  us!  Massa  Phil,  who  could  tink  dat 
yelly'd  be  in  sich  a  place  as  dis  ?" 

"  And  perhaps  I  shouldn't  be  here  if  I  had  not  seen 
you  working  away  at  the  key.  'Twas  a  good  trick,  eh, 
Pomp,  to  counter-work  you.  You  are  a  cunning  fellow, 
but  you  hav'n't  eyes  behind." 

"  No,  'deed,  Massa  Phil ;  body  muss  be  eyes  all  ober 
to  cotch  you." 

"  Now  do  you  stick  by  me,  Pomp,  and  you  shall  catch 
all  the  rest." 

Aunt  Flore,  meanwhile,  in  her  lair,  heard  a  light  step 
on  the  great  stairs,  and,  keeping  the  door  on  a  crack, 
thought,  "Dat  ar  Massa  Phil,  for  sure."  The  sound 
approached,  and,  darting  out,  she  exclaimed,  "Happy 
New  Year!" 

No  voice  responded ;  and  presently,  in  a  tone  of  great 
vexation,  she  was  heard  to  say,  "Only  dat  ar  cussed 
dog,  Ponto!"  and  was  returning  to  her  hiding-place 
when  Master  Philip  and  Pomp  burst  upon  her  with  the 
triumphant  salutation. 

Aunt  Minty,  thinking  it  time  for  her  to  appear,  was 
about  to  do  so,  when  she  found  herself  entrapped ;  the 
door  of  the  closet  in  which  she  had  unwarily  secreted 
herself  fastened  by  a  spring  bolt  on  the  outside,  and  was, 
of  course,  immovable  from  within.  Her  situation  being 
discovered,  she  became  a  mark  for  the  gibes  and  jests  of 
all  the  rest,  till  at  length  Pomp,  yielding  to  her  entreat 
ies  to  be  "  let  out,"  opened  the  door  with  one  of  his  pro- 
foundest  scrapes,  and,  with  an  introductory  flourish  of 

L 


242 

his  hand,  said,  "  Ladies  and  gemplen,  my  moder !  De 
com'plents  of  de  season  to  you,  marm !"  Poor  Aunt 
Minty,  hiding  her  face  with  her  apron,  panting,  perspir 
ing,  and  ashamed,  waddled  off  to  conceal  her  discomfit 
ure  in  the  kitchen.  In  her  confusion  and  haste  she 
nearly  overthrew  Momma  Zip,  who,  unusually  excited, 
was  coming,  with  Guinea  song  and  dance,  to  wish  hap 
py  years  to  all.  Poor  soul !  how  few  in  her  long  life 
had  been  hers  !  and  the  future  had  none  for  her. 

The  next  and  greatest  achievement  of  the  night  was 
to  "  cotch  ole  massa ;"  and  Flore,  fearlessly  leading  the 
way,  softly  entered  his  room.  The  curtains  were  drawn 
as  usual,  but  the  light  was  burning.  There  was  no  fear 
of  waking  him.  No  one  ever  slept  on  that  night  till  they 
had  seen  "  the  old  year  out  and  the  new  year  in."  Flore, 
therefore,  in  full  confidence,  stepped  along  as  stealthily 
as  a  cat,  and,  unwilling  to  startle  him,  said,  in  a  gentle 
voice,  "  Happy  New  Year  to  massa !" 

But  no  answer  was  returned ;  and,  peeping  within  the 
curtains,  to  her  dismay  she  saw  no  one  there.  Turning 
to  the  group  behind,  which  now  included  nearly  the 
whole  establishment,  she  was  about  to  express  her  sur 
prise  and  disappointment,  when  a  screen  at  one  corner 
of  the  fire-place  was  thrown  down,  and  Mr.  Lawrence, 
seated  in  his  arm-chair,  brandishing  his  cane,  and  laugh 
ing,  exclaimed,  in  a  merry  voice,  "Happy  New  Year 
to  all !  great  and  small !  old  and  young !  white,  black, 
and  yellow !  Now  to  bed,  every  one  of  you,  and  let  the 
old  house  be  quiet." 

"Happy  New  Year!"  cried  yet  another  voice,  and 
Eleanor,  coming  from  behind  a  large  cloak  that  hung  in 
the  room,  saluted  her  grandfather  and  aunt,  and  then 
ran  to  shake  hands  merrily  with  all. 

Aunt  Flore,  having  the  first  and  last  word  on  all  oc 
casions,  dropped  a  courtesy  to  Mr.  Lawrence.  "  Massa 


A  PEEP  AT  THE   PAST.  248 

beat  us  all,"  said  she;  "so  smart  as  de  first  New  Year 
time  I  'member  him.  Many  'turns  of  de  same  to  massa. 
He'll  always  be  de  smartest  of  us  all."  And  thus  ended 
the  "  Mistakes  of  the  Night."  But  a  generous  distribu 
tion  of  cakes  and  money  the  next  day  among  the  serv 
ants,  proved  that  massa  had  not  desired  to  escape  the 
forfeits. 


244  WALTEB  THORNLEY;    OE, 


CHAPTER  XXIII. 

THE  holidays  had  passed,  but  not  all  the  pleasures  of 
the  winter.  Master  Philip  was  anxious  to  prove  to  Ele 
anor  that  she  had  never  known  the  true  delight  of  sleigh 
ing.  Rejecting  the  accustomed  roads,  where  the  snow  was 
worn,  he  resorted  to  the  highway  provided  by  the  river, 
which  was  just  in  the  finest  condition  for  the  purpose. 
Here,  in  a  commodious  sleigh,  with  plenty  of  furs,  and 
and  a  pair  of  fleet  horses,  he  was  always  ready  to  attend 
her.  Some  of  their  neighbors  lived,  like  Mr.  Lawrence, 
near  the  river ;  and,  either  to  visit  these,  or  for  more  ex 
tended  drives,  sometimes  with  Miss  Lawrence  and  her 
father,  Eleanor  profited  by  his  courtesy. 

Following  the  course  of  the  noble  stream,  beautiful 
even  when  ice-bound,  with  its  mountain  line  on  one  side 
and  the  dwellings  of  the  gentry,  the  river  gods,  on  the 
other ;  its  shores  dotted  by  "  landings ;"  dismantled  masts 
peeping  out  of  its  sheltering  inlets  and  creeks — suggest 
ive  of  the  activity  that  was  to  succeed  the  present  re 
pose  ;  now  doubling  a  headland,  now  keeping  clear  of 
a  cove ;  sometimes  under  a  flood  of  sunshine,  then  in 
the  soft  moonlight,  mirrored  in  portions  of  ice  not  cov 
ered  by  snow,  Eleanor  was  borne  along,  as  if  by  winged 
horses,  to  the 

"Tintabulation  of  the  bells,  bells,  bells." 

What  was  a  drive  through  the  streets  of  a  crowded 
city  to  this  broad,  unbroken  highway — jostled  by  some, 
running  down  others,  fearing  to  be  impaled  by  those 
behind,  or  to  commit  an  equal  violence  on  those  in  front, 
snow  half  mud,  and  every  jarring  sound  disturbing  the 
sense  ? 


A  PEEP  AT  THE   PAST.  245 

Then,  too,  Cousin  Philip  instructed  her  in  sliding.  He 
would  have  put  her  on  skates,  after  the  fashion  of  the 
fair  Hollanders  of  whom  he  had  heard,  but  she  was  tim 
id,  and  only  ventured,  clinging  to  his  hand,  to  slide  while 
he  skated. 

And  then,  in  her  pleasant  walks  and  sweet  compan 
ionship  with  Aunt  Gertrude,  she  learned  to  love  Nature 
under  its  winter  aspects.  The  clear  skies  of  the  day, 
the  gorgeous  sunsets,  the  deep  blue  of  the  star-lit  firma 
ment,  the  evergreens  bending  under  the  new-fallen  snow, 
the  symmetrical  ramifications  of  the  disrobed  trees,  now 
cased  in  prismatic  crystal,  then  in  feathery  frost-work, 
shedding  an  indescribable  softness  over  the  landscape, 
filled  her  with  a  delight  which  she  could  not  always  ex 
press.  But  her  heart  responded  as  Aunt  Gertrude  soft 
ly  repeated  from  the  old  canticle, 

"  Oh,  ye  ice  and  snow ; 
Oh,  ye  frost  and  cold,  bless  ye  the  Lord  ; 
Praise  him,  and  magnify  him  forever!" 

Then  there  were  fireside  pleasures  for  the  long  even 
ings,  among  which  Mr.  Lawrence  especially  esteemed  a 
game  of  whist.  In  this  he  and  Master  Philip  excelled ; 
and  Miss  Lawrence  had  made  herself,  to  please  her  fa 
ther,  a  remarkably  good  lady-player.  Her  grandfather 
undertook  the  instruction  of  Eleanor ;  and  though,  with 
all  others,  he  insisted,  like  Mrs.  Battle,  on  "  the  rigor  of 
the  game,"  to  her  mistakes  he  was  always  indulgent. 
She  might  omit  to  return  his  lead ;  she  might  uselessly 
sacrifice  a  trump  on  the  thirteenth  card,  or  compel  him 
to  cast  a  king  into  the  jaws  of  an  ace,  which  she  ought 
to  have  remembered  was  lying  in  wait  for  him;  she 
might,  in  short,  do  any  thing  but  revoke.  That  he  con 
sidered  an  "  irredeemable  stupidity."  Once  she  was 
guilty  of  it.  and  received  only  a  gentle  exhortation. 
The  second  and  last  time  she  thus  transgressed  he  threw 


246  WALTER  THORNLEY;  OR, 

up  his  cards,  did  not  speak — a  marvelous  self-control — 
but  whistled  emphatically,  and  played  the  "  Cooper's 
March"  with  his  knuckles  on  the  little  stand,  always  by 
his  side,  as  if  on  purpose  to  afford  him  this  relief.  Mas 
ter  Philip  saw  the  tears  start  into  Eleanor's  eyes,  and 
adroitly  proposed  to  teach  her  piquet,  saying,  "  You'll 
soon  know  enough  to  beat  me,  for  I  am  but  an  indiffer 
ent  player." 

Mr.  Lawrence  smiled.  The  cloud  passed  away,  and 
Eleanor,  with  a  grateful  look  at  Cousin  Phil,  accepted 
his  offer. 

From  that  time,  for  some  reason — Eleanor  feared,  her 
own  dullness — her  grandfather  promoted  piquet  in  pref 
erence  to  whist.  Seated  by  the  table  at  which  she  and 
Master  Philip  played,  he  seemed  to  find  as  much  pleas 
ure  in  the  game  as  they  did,  suggesting  from  time  to 
time  to  his  grandson — Eleanor  could  not  tell  why,  when 
he  certainly  knew  more  than  she  did — "to  'strengthen 
his  point,'  not  to  reject  '  good  cards'  in  a  presumptuous 
hope  of  better,  and  to  remember  that  'first  in  hand'  was 
a  great  advantage" — admonitions  that  seemed  to  embar 
rass  Master  Philip  rather  than  to  help  him. 

A  fine  fall  of  snow  had  repaired  the  sleighing,  when, 
one  morning,  Uncle  Mink  appeared  at  the  parlor  door, 
and  wanted  "  to  speak  to  massa." 

"Well,  what  is  it,  Mink?" 

After  shifting  from  leg  to  leg,  and  twirling  his  hat 
round  on  his  hand,  he  answered,  "  A  drefful  bad  rheu- 
matiz"  in  both  his  arms  and  in  his  right  shoulder. 

"  Ah !  that's  bad ;  but  Miss  Gitty  can  cure  it." 

Mink  looked  doubtful ;  said  he'd  "  tried  missus's  stuff, 
and  it  didn't  do  no  good." 

"Well,  we'll  have  Dr.  Kelson  then." 

Again  Mink  hesitated.  At  length  he  continued, 
"  Please,  massa,  dere's  a  doctor  at  de  Hook  cures  brack 


A   PEEP   AT   THE   PAST.  247 

folks  all  roun'  here — Mr.  Johnson's  Jake,  and  Mr.  Du- 
bois's  Tom,  and  all— I'd  like  try  him*." 

"  Some  cursed  quack !"  said  Mr.  Lawrence,  with  rising 
anger. 

"Yes,  massa,  dat's  de  name — Doctor  Quaco — colored 
man,  massa." 

"  Yes,  so  I  supposed.  But  how  can  you  go?  Not 
on  horseback  with  lame  arms ;  at  least,  you  couldn't  if 
it  were  my  business,  I'll  engage ;  and  it  won't  help  your 
rheumatism  to  walk  there." 

"No,  massa;  but  if  massa  let  us  take  de  farm  horses 
— dey  rader  gay  for  want  of  work  juss  now — and  massa 
knows  dem  High  Dutch  horses — muss  keep  'em  down, 
or,  dam  'em,  dey  will  hull." 

Mr.  Lawrence's  cane  descended  with  an  emphasis  that 
made  Mink  start. 

"  No  swearing,  Mink !    Nobody  swears  here  but  me  /" 

A  low  bow,  and  "  Beg  pardon,  massa — didn't  tink," 
acknowledged  Mr.  Lawrence's  superior  claim. 

"  Well,  and  who  to  drive  ?  You  can  not,  of  course, 
drive  wild  horses." 

"  Pomp,  massa,  can  drive  me  and  Flore." 

"Flore,  too,  what's  the  matter  with  her?" 

"  Nottin',  massa,  only  she  tinks  de  doctor  help  little 
Mink's  legs:  de  doctor  drefful  smart  on  de  rickets, 
massa." 

"  So  little  Mink  must  be  poisoned  too !  and  why  not 
try  Dr.  Nelson  for  him,  if  not  for  yourself?" 

Mink  scratched  his  poll ;  but,  more  afraid  of  his  wife 
than  of  his  master,  he  proceeded : 

"  Flore  tinks  dat  he  don't  care  for  de  colored  folks — 
on'y  for  de  quality,  massa." 

"Oh,  the  devil  fly  away  with  Flore!  She's  always 
thinking ;  and  why  can't  you  think  yourself,  man  ?" 

To  this  Mink  had  nothing  to  reply,  never  having  con- 


248  WALTER  THORNLEY;    OR, 

sidered  thought  as  among  his  inalienable  rights,  and,  espe 
cially,  never  to  be  exercised  in  opposition  to  his  wife. 

"  Well,  well,  go  your  way,  but  take  care  the  horses 
don't  break  all  your  necks — Doctor  Quaco  can't  mend 
them? 

11  No,  massa,  I  'spects  not ;"  and  Mink  vanished. 

Flore's  diplomacy  prospered.  It  was  true,  Uncle 
Mink  had  the  rheumatism,  and  perhaps  little  Mink  the 
rickets ;  but  she  had  a  small  fund,  a  good  deal  increased 
by  her  New-yearings ;  and  this  was  to  be  invested  at  a 
shop  in  the  neighboring  village,  and  Doctor  Quaco  was 
to  be  taken  on  the  way.  Having  had  many  indulgences 
of  late,  she  thought  it  advisable  to  put  this  expedition 
on  the  footing  of  necessity,  thus  leaving  the  field  open 
for  farther  favors,  if  desired. 

Pomp's  appearance  at  the  tea-hour  announced  their 
return. 

"Well,  Pomp,"  inquired  Mr.  Lawrence,  "what  did 
Quaco  say  ?" 

"  He  say,  massa,"  replied  Pomp  in  an  oracular  man 
ner,  "  dat  Uncle  Mink  hab  de  rheumatiz,  and  little  Mink 
de  rickets." 

"  Yes,  that  we  knew  before ;  but  what's  to  be  done  ?" 

"  He  gib  some  stuff  in  a  bottle  for  bote,  massa ;  and 
he  say  Uncle  Mink  muss  hab  some  sperits  too,"  added 
Pomp,  anxious  to  account  for  a  suspicious-looking  jug 
that  had  appeared. 

"Spirits!  what,  inside  or  out?" 

"  Bote,  massa ;  to  froment  outside,  and  take  inside  for 
etarnal  complaints." 

"  I  dare  say !  The  scoundrel  I  Gertrude,  you  must 
look  into  this.  Mink  has  been  a  sober  fellow  all  his 
life.  I  won't  have  this  quack  make  a  drunkard  of 
him." 

But  a  glimpse  into  the  kitchen  at  eleven  o'clock  that 


A  PEEP  AT  THE  PAST.  249 

night  would  have  relieved  Mr.  Lawrence's  alarm  on  the 
subject  of  Mink's  temperance. 

By  the  light  of  a  roaring  fire  was  to  be  seen  a  table 
of  large  dimensions,  covered  with  the  good  things  hoard 
ed  from  their  holiday  luxuries,  and  smoking  with  addi 
tions  of  their  own  procuring.  Of  these,  most  conspicu 
ous  was  an  immense  turkey,  in  regard  to  which  Flore 
had  mystified  Momma  Zip,  the  guardian  of  the  poultry- 
yard;  averring  that  Miss  Hyslip  at  the  ferry  had  given 
her  a  turkey's  egg,  and  that  she  had  put  it  in  a  certain 
nest  where  the  process  of  incubation  had  just  begun. 
Consequently,  this  individual  turkey  was  the  product, 
and  the  property  hers,  the  intermediate  feeding  and  care 
to  the  contrary  notwithstanding.  Momma,  who,  how 
ever  lax  her  notions  on  the  subject  of  food,  as  has  been 
said,  was  incorruptible  in  regard  to  any  thing  committed 
to  her  in  trust,  demurred,  but  in  vain.  She  could  never 
talk  fast  enough  for  Aunt  Flore. 

At  each  end  of  the  table  was  a  bottle  of  the  spirits 
prescribed  for  Uncle  Mink,  and  among  the  guests  Doc 
tor  Quaco  himself  and  his  wife,  both  of  whom  recom 
mended  his  medicine  by  their  fearless  use  of  it. 

Here  they  were,  in  a  state  of  high  enjoyment!  This 
upper  kitchen  being  detached  from  the  house,  and  with 
but  one  window,  which  looked  in  another  direction,  they 
had  no  fear  of  being  seen  or  overheard,  when  a  rap  at 
this  only  window  produced  a  general  start.  Knives  and 
forks  dropped,  the  glass  on  its  way  to  the  lips  was  ar 
rested,  the  joke  was  cracked  the  wrong  way,  and  laugh 
ter  died  in  the  birth ! 

Aunt  Flore  was  the  first  to  recover.  Going  to  the 
window,  a  face  she  never  found  unfriendly,  appeared, 
and,  shoving  it  softly  up,  she  said  in  a  low  voice,  "  Mas- 
saPhil!  dat  aryelly?" 

"  Yes,  Flore — me  myself;  let  me  in.  I  am  very  cold, 
L2 


250  WALTER  THOKNLEY;    OB, 

ay,  and  hungry  too ;"  and,  raising  his  finger  in  a  way  at 
once  confidential  and  admonitory,  said,  "Mum,  Aunt 
Flore !  no  tale-telling,  you  know." 

"  No,  Massa  Phil ;  dat's  de  word :  mum  for  you,  mum 
for  me." 

Upon  this  the  door  was  unbolted,  and  Philip,  shiver 
ing  with  cold,  yet  casting  a  merry  glance  at  the  table 
and  those  around  it,  drew  up  to  the  fire.  Insisting  that 
no  one  should  be  disturbed,  he  was  formally  introduced 
by  Pomp  to  "  de  doctor  and  he  lady ;"  after  which,  be 
ing  well  warmed,  and  taking,  by  Flore's  advice,  a  taste 
of  the  doctor's  medicine,  he  gladly  took  the  supper  that 
she  spread  for  him  on  a  table  in  the  wide  chimney-cor 
ner,  saying,  with  her  usual  tact,  "  Massa  Phil  too  cold  to 
come  to  de  table — muss  keep  close  to  de  fire." 

"  This  is  a  capital  turkey,  Aunt  Flore ;  where  did  it 
come  from  ?"  asked  he,  significantly. 

"  Not  bery  far  off,"  she  replied  slyly ;  then  added, 
"  From  Miss  Hy slip's,  at  de  ferry,  Massa  Phil." 

"And  there's  more  where  this  came  from,  I  sup 
pose?" 

"  Oh  yes,  wheneber  Massa  Phil  wants  a  supper,"  said 
she,  with  a  smile  which  he  well  understood. 

He  did  not  long  interfere  with  their  pleasures ;  but, 
cautioning  them  to  be  quiet,  and  with  an  "  aside"  to 
Aunt  Flore  to  get  her  visitors  away  without  rousing  the 
dogs,  he  retired,  having  the  satisfaction  of  hearing  him 
self,  through  the  closing  doors,  applauded  as  "  dat  ar's 
de  truest  gem'len  as  walks  de  ground." 

That  evening,  to  Mr.  Lawrence's  surprise  and  annoy 
ance,  Philip  had  not  been  at  home.  Miss  Lawrence  en 
deavored  to  soften  it  to  him  by  saying  he  had  been  un 
usually  domestic  of  late,  and  that  whenever  he  was  ab 
sent  it  was  always  easily  explained. 

"  Yes,  oh  yes,"  replied  the  old  gentleman,  trying,  but 


A  PEEP  AT  THE  PAST.  251 

not  very  successfully,  to  treat  it  as  a  light  matter. 
"  Come,  Eleanor,  let  me  give  you  a  lesson  in  piquet ;  or 
shall  we  try  three-handed  whist,  since  that  runaway  has 
reduced  us  to  it?" 

This  was  preferred  as.  including  all,  and  grandpapa 
played  "  dummy"  to  the  ladies. 

The  next  morning  Philip  appeared  at  breakfast  at  the 
usual  hour,  but  Eleanor  thought  he  had  not  his  accus 
tomed  cheerful  face. 

"  Good-morning,  Phil,"  said  Mr.  Lawrence ;  "you  de 
serted  us  last  evening ;  where  were  you  ?" 

"  I  was  out,  sir." 

The  gravity  and  decided  tone  of  this  reply,  so  rare 
with  him,  seemed  to  disconcert  his  grandfather. 

"  Out !  why — why  yes,  I  know  that.  I  said  so.  Out ! 
to  be  sure  you  were." 

But  he  did  not  repeat- the  inquiry,  and  Philip  proffer 
ed  no  explanation;  turning  the  conversation  by  some 
rather  forced  small-talk  with  Eleanor  and  his  aunt,  he 
left  the  room  as  soon  as  the  meal  was  over. 

Mr.  Lawrence  sat  silent,  evidently  brooding  over  some 
thing  that  much  displeased  him;  and,  not  inclined,  as 
usual,  for  society  or  reading,  summoned  Pomp,  and  with 
drew  to  his  room.  On  entering  he  found  Aunt  Flore 
there.  He  had  never  condescended  to  any  espionage 
with  servants  or  children ;  but,  thinking  Flore  very  like 
ly  to  know  more  in  the  present  instance  than  himself, 
and  choosing  the  most  direct  mode,  he  dismissed  Pomp, 
and  said, 

"Where  was  Master  Phil  last  night,  Flore?" 

Now  Flore  knew  nothing;  for  her  young  master, 
with  all  his  reliance  on  her  good-will,  had  never  admit 
ted  her  to  his  confidence.  Nevertheless,  she  always  in 
stinctively  spoke  as  if  retained  by  him. 

"Massa  Phil !  why,  in  his  bed,  massa;  so  fass  asleep 
dis  mornin'  I  couldn't  hardly  wake  him." 


252  WALTER  THORNLEY;  OK, 

"Very  well,  that  may  be;  but  where  was  he  in  the 
evening,  I  say?" 

"  I  dunno  know,  massa.  Sarvents  ough'n't  neber  be 
spyin'  where  dere  massas  goes.  If  ole  massa  out  ebery 
night  in  de  week,  I  tink  he  on'y  at  de  dominie's  or  de 
'sist'ry— " 

"  You  know  very  well,  Flore,  that  Master  Phil  was 
not  at  the  dominie's  nor  the  consistory  last  evening." 

"No,  massa,  s'pose  not;  he  too  young  for  dat  ting 
now;  one  of  dose  days,  p'r'aps.  But  massa  knows 
young  gen'elmen  don't  like  be  ax'd  whar  dey's  agoin', 
here  nor  dere,  dey  feel  so  gran'  to  be  dere  own  massas. 
P'r'aps  Massa  Phil  only  down  by  Mr.  Johnson's,  or 
ober  de  riber  to  wait  on  de  young  ladies  at  ole  Madam 
Van  de  Bergh's." 

"  That  is  just  where  I  supposed  he  was,  and  where  he 
shall  not  go,"  said  Mr.  Lawrence,  angrily.  "  They  have 
been  trying  to  catch  him  these  two  years." 

"  Laws,  massa !  dey  can't  hole  a  candle  to  our  young 
missis  for  beauty.  Massa  Phil  neber  tink  of  dem,  I 
sure ;  den  Miss  Eleanor  so  sweet  on  Massa  Phil,  too." 

"  Do  you  think  so,  Flore  ?"  replied  Mr.  Lawrence, 
much  mollified.  "Well,  you  may  go  now,  and  send 
Pomp  to  me." 

Pomp  reappeared ;  and}  while  assisting  his  master  to 
put  on  his  dressing-gown,  said,  "Massa  loss  any  ting?" 

"No,  Pomp,  nothing  but  my  temper,  which  I  shall 
find  by-and-by." 

Pomp,  something  of  an  "  expert"  in  the  interpretation 
of  looks,  perceiving  that  his  master  was  in  a  more  com 
placent  mood  than  when  he  left  the  breakfast-room,  ven 
tured,  as  he  had  sometimes  done  with  impunity,  a  little 
pleasantry. 

"Massa  better  don't  lose  dat  so  berry  often,  fear  one 
of  dose  days  massa  neber  find  it." 


A  PEEP  AT  THE  PAST.  253 

"That's  true,  Pomp,  spoke  like  a  dominie.  A  bad 
habit  is  master  at  last — but  come — the  water.  Did  you 
brush  my  coat  ?" 

"Yes,  massa,"  replied  Pomp,  handing  at  the  same 
time  a  crown  piece  that  had  slipped  within  the  lining  of 
the  pocket;  "massa  neber  know  he  loss  it." 

Mr.  Lawrence  took  it  and  put  it  in  his  purse,  giving 
Pomp,  at  the  same  time,  a  half-dollar  for  his  honesty. 
He  received  it  with  a  grin,  displaying  an  enviable  set 
of  ivory,  and  a  low  bow,  saying,  "  Wish  massa  loss  his 
money  ebery  day." 

"  I  am  much  obliged  to  you ;  and  that's  your  grati 
tude,  is  it?  Well,  I  suppose  you  are  as  good  as  you 
know  how  to  be,  and  that's  more  than  /  am,  I  fear." 


254  WALTER  THOENLEY;  OK, 


CHAPTER  XXIV. 

THE  least  agreeable  season  had  come.  The  snow  was 
gone,  and  the  removal  of  its  white  drapery  disclosed  the 
ragged  garments  of  winter.  The  roads  were  nearly 
impassable,  and  the  ice,  cracked,  unsound,  and  in  many 
places  covered  with  water,  was  no  longer  to  be  trusted. 
Moving  was  out  of  the  question,  and  the  young  people 
were  reduced  to  in-door  occupations.  In  books  they 
had  little  companionship ;  but  Philip,  an  observer  of 
nature  and  a  lover  of  animals,  had  pets  of  all  kinds,  un 
derstood  their  habits,  and  could  give  Eleanor  practical 
hints  in  natural  history,  as  well  worth  having  as  if  found 
between  the  boards  of  a  book.  Birds,  including  choice 
species  of  poultry,  rabbits,  cats,  and  dogs,  abounded 
about  the  house  and  premises,  and  were  taught  to  dwell 
in  most  instructive  harmony.  In  proof  of  which,  Phil 
delighted  to  point  out  to  Eleanor  a  spaniel  on  the  hearth 
rug,  with  his  fore-paws  lovingly  folded  round  an  unre 
sisting  cat.  At  another  time  he  directed  her  attention 
to  this  same  dog  performing  the  part  of  dry-nurse  to  a 
family  of  kittens,  whom  the  mother,  dissatisfied  with  her 
quarters,  was  removing.  Following  her  lead,  he  took 
up  one  in  his  mouth  and  gently  placed  it  in  the  new 
bed  the  mother  had  found,  to  which  he  was  seen  return 
ing  at  night,  as  if  to  inquire  into  the  safety  of  the  family. 
Having  ascertained  it,  he  licked  them  and  retired.  On 
another  occasion  Eleanor  was  called  on  to  assist  in  the 
care  of  a  pet  bantam  hen,  whose  feet  were  nipped  by  the 
frost.  Too  tender  to  be  at  once  exposed,  Philip  inter 
ceded  with  Mrs.  Dorothy — no  one  in  the  house  could  re 
fuse  him — to  admit  her  and  her  basket,  for  a  few  days, 


A  PEEP  AT  THE   PAST.  255 

into  the  housekeeper's  room.  The  species  were  then 
rare,  very  small,  strongly  marked,  and  cared  for  as  a  sort 
of  curiosity.  The  basket  was  capacious.  Philip,  having 
furnished  it  with  a  perch,  brought  in  her  mate  to  con 
sole  her,  and  Eleanor  was  requested  to  admire  the  con 
jugal  devotion  of  the  little  cock,  as  he  spread  a  shelter 
ing  wing  over  his  disabled  spouse. 

Then  Cousin  Phil  asked  assistance  in  preparing  his 
fishing-tackle,  and  she  soon  learned  to  manage  the  quills 
and  corks,  to  twist  the  horse-hair  lines,  and  to  attach  the 
hooks. 

"What  are  you  so  busy  about,  Eleanor?"  inquired 
her  aunt. 

"Making  ' snares'  for  Cousin  Phil,"  she  replied,  very 
innocently. 

Miss  Gertrude  looked  at  her  father,  and  smiled.  He 
put  his  finger  on  his  lip  to  check  farther  comment,  but 
he  rapped  on  the  table  a  merry  accompaniment,  as  he 
hummed  the  air  of  "  Come,  haste  to  the  wedding !"  Ele 
anor,  intent  on  her  work,  neither  saw  nor  heard. 

Philip,  meanwhile,  in  anticipation  of  the  ducking  sea 
son,  was  getting  things  in  readiness.  His  canoe  required 
repairing  and  a  fresh  coat  of  white  paint ;  and  a  suit  of 
white  linen  was  to  be  put  in  order,  that,  thus  disguised, 
he  might,  unsuspected,  invade  the  haunts  of  the  water 
fowl  in  the  coves  and  creeks  as  soon  as  the  ice  should 
move.  This,  of  itself,  was  an  event.  For  some  time  in 
a  state  when  crossing  was  perilous — only  attempted  by 
the  daring  or  fool-hardy — while  daily  false  announce 
ments  of  its  "moving"  kept  expectation  wide  awake,  at 
length  the  fetters  were  burst,  and,  in  grand  accumulat 
ing  masses,  the  ice  floated  down.  All  seemed  to  have  a 
sense  of  liberation — of  restoration  to  the  world  without 
— as  the  noble  river,  shaking  off  its  chains,  flowed  re 
joicingly  by,  inviting  them  again  to  its  broad  and  beau- 


256  WALTER  THORNLEY;  OR, 

tiful  bosom !  And  now  was  to  be  put  in  practice  the 
stratagems  devised  against  the  "poor  ducks,"  as  Ele 
anor  said ;  but,  in  spite  of  her  compassion,  she  laughed 
heartily  at  Philip  in  his  death-dealing  dress,  which  want 
ed,  as  she  told  him,  "  only  the  ( mist-cap'  of  the  dwarfs  to 
be  complete  1" 

Thrown  thus  continually  and  naturally  together,  it 
would  have  been  strange  if  a  more  than  common  mutual 
interest  had  not  been  excited.  In  Eleanor  this  was  un 
disturbed  by  any  question  of  its  nature.  Preoccupied 
as  she  was,  Philip  but  supplied  to  her,  as  nearly  as  pos 
sible,  a  want  she  often  lamented.  He  was  a  brother, 
with  just  that  touch  of  gallantry  and  devotion,  in  which, 
however  true  in  more  important  respects,  brothers  are 
sometimes  deficient.  The  only  deduction  from  her  con 
tentment  was,  that  he  himself  was  less  cheerful  than  for 
merly — often  abstracted,  and  evidently  perplexed,  rest 
less,  and,  she  feared,  even  at  times  unhappy. 

One  evening  it  so  happened  that  they  were  left  alone 
in  the  parlor,  Mr.  Lawrence  having  retired  earlier  than 
usual;  and  Miss  Gertrude,  leaving  them  to  finish  a  game 
of  piquet,  soon  followed  him. 

They  continued  to  play  for  some  time,  only  speaking 
as  the  game  required.  At  length  it  approached  its  term 
ination,  and,  having  compared  "points,"  etc.,  Eleanor, 
first  in  hand,  proceeded  to  play,  counting,  as  she  went, 
till,  reaching  "one  hundred,"  she  exclaimed,  "There!  I 
have  beaten  you  again !  Why,  Cousin  Phil,  you  are  a 
better  player  than  I  am,  yet,  lately,  I  always  win !  What 
are  you  thinking  of?" 

"Shall  I  tell  you,  Eleanor?"  said  he,  with  an  expres 
sion  so  strange,  hurried,  excited,  and  yet  hesitating,  that 
she  could  only  gather  from  it  some  trouble,  of  which, 
indeed,  since  the  evening  when  his  absence  had  incurred 
his  grandfather's  displeasure,  she  had  been  apprehensive. 
"Shall  I  tell  you?"  he  repeated. 


A  PEEP  AT  THE   PAST.  257 

"  Do,  cousin,"  she  answered,  looking  compassionately ; 
"  do,  I  beg  of  you.  If  I  can  only  give  you  comfort  or 
counsel,  I  shall  be  so  happy !" 

"Hear  me,  then,  while  I  have  courage  to  speak,"  and 
with  a  sort  of  desperation  he  proceeded : 

"  Can  you,  will  you,  dear  Eleanor !  unworthy  as  I  am ; 
little  as  I  can  offer  in  return  for  all  your  beauty,  accom 
plishments,  and  goodness ;  little  as  I  have  done  to  ob 
tain  such  a  possession !  will  you,  dear  Eleanor — will  you 
be  my  wife?" 

If  lightning  had  fallen  at  her  feet,  Eleanor  could  hard 
ly  have  been  more  stunned.  Although,  on  rare  occa 
sions,  some  expression  of  her  grandfather's  had  for  a  mo 
ment  suggested  to  her  an  uneasy  thought  of  this  kind, 
still  he  had  so  rigidly  forbidden,  and,  in  the  main,  had  so 
carefully  avoided  all  allusions  or  raillery  in  the  presence 
of  Eleanor,  and  Philip  himself  had  been  so  much  more 
like  a  friend  than  a  lover,  that  she  had  entirely  dismiss 
ed  the  idea  from  her  mind.  And  now  to  this  good, 
kind,  pleasant  cousin  she  was  to  give  pain,  which,  how 
ever  short-lived  she  might  hope  it  would  prove,  must  at 
present  be  the  keenest  she  could  inflict — on  one,  too,  on 
whom  she  would  only  confer  happiness !  Her  heart  and 
eyes  were  full;  she  could  scarcely  command  words  to 
convey  the  sentence  for  which  he  waited  in  silence  as 
profound  as  her  own.  At  length  she  spoke. 

"  Dear  cousin,  I  am  sure  you  will  believe  me  when  I 
say  that  this  declaration  overwhelms  me  with  surprise 
and — and — grief!  Forget  it,  I  entreat  you,  as  I  shall 
do.  Let  me  not  lose  my  cousin  and  my  friend  because 
I  can — never  be  any  thing  else  to  him !" 

Not  daring  to  raise  her  eyes  to  Philip,  who  sat  voice 
less  by  her  side,  they  remained  immovable,  till,  unable 
longer  to  endure  the  constraint,  she  ventured  a  look  to 
ward  him,  and  still  another,  for  astonishment  now  got 


258 

the  better  of  every  other  emotion  as  she  met  his  gaze, 
expressive  only  of  relief,  of  happiness !" 

"  Cousin  Phil,"  exclaimed  she,  with  animation,  "what 
does  this  mean?"  Then,  catching  the  contagion  of  his 
smile,  "  This  is  not  the  first  of  April,  surely !  What 
game  are  you  at?" 

"  A  desperate  one,  dear  Eleanor,  if  you  were  not  the 
best  cousin  in  the  world !" 

She  still  stared  in  mute  amazement. 

"  Yes,  the  dearest,  kindest  cousin  that  ever  man  had! 
and  simply  for  not  falling  in  love  with  me !" 

"In  love  with  you!  I  never  dreamed  of  such  a 
thing !  How  had  you  the  presumption  to  suppose  it  ?" 

"  I  did  not ;  I  only  feared  it." 

"  Feared  it !  "Worse  and  worse  !  But  you  may  be 
perfectly  easy  now,  you  see.  Pray,  however,  how  hap 
pens  it  that,  being  in  love  with  me,  you  feared  a  re 
turn?" 

"Dear  Eleanor,  how  shall  I  confess  it?  I  was  not  in 
love!" 

"Not  in  love  yourself!  Oh,  delightful!  Now  we 
are  on  equal  terms.  You  do  not  want  to  marry  me, 
and,  if  you  were  the  last  man,  I  wouldn't  marry  you!" 

"Don't  be  severe,  dear  Nelly!  Let  me  call  you  so 
now ;  it  is  more  familiar,  but  it  is,  too,  more  affectionate ; 
and  now  there  is  no  danger,  you  know." 

"  None  in  the  world  to  me !  but  who  shall  guarantee 
your  safety,  my  hitherto  invulnerable  cousin  ?  Take 
care !  Perhaps  I  may  be  piqued  into  making  myself  ir 
resistible  yet." 

" No,  no,"  said  Philip,  shaking  his  head ;  "I  have 
a  stronger  guarantee  than  you  imagine.  You  shall 
hear—" 

"  Nay,  if  you  please,  pray  answer  me  one  question 
first.  Pray,  sir,  supposing  you  had  *  made  an  indelible 


A  PEEP  AT  THE   PAST.  259 

impression  on  my  too  susceptible  heart,'  as  the  novels 
say,  what  would  you  have  done  then  ?" 

"Married  you,  of  course,  even  at  the  sacrifice  of  my 
self." 

"  Sacrifice !"  exclaimed  Eleanor,  laughing  heartily. 
"Well,  there  have  been  love-scenes,  sentimental,  trag 
ical,  passionate,  heroic,  sublime;  but  so  ridiculous  as 
this,  never !" 

"  Ah !  Eleanor,  to  you  it  is  all  sport,  but  to  me  confu 
sion  and  fear  still." 

"  What,  though  I  have  refused  you  1  What  else  can 
I  do  to  make  you  happy  ?  I  thought  but  now  that  you 
were  on  the  pinnacle  of  felicity,  having  escaped  from 
me." 

"  Yes,  for  a  moment ;  but  have  patience  with  me,  Ele 
anor  ;  I  can  not  rest  without  explaining  my  strange  con 
duct.  I  do  not  ask  your  love,  but  I  can  not  be  denied 
your  friendship — I  dare  not  say  your  respect.  It  is  not 
very  late — "  and,  throwing  more  wood  on  the  fire,  plac 
ing  a  chair  near  it  for  her,  and  drawing  another  toward 
it,  he  seated  himself  by  her  side.  "  Now  for  my  confes 
sion: 

"You  have  not  known,  Eleanor,  nor  I,  much  longer 
than  since  you  came  here,  that  a  darling  object  of  our 
grandfather  was  to  unite  us.  It  was  natural  enough 
that  he  should  desire  it.  It  would  draw  closer  the  few 
family  links  left,  would  keep  his  fine  fortune  unbroken, 
and  secure  to  himself  in  his  old  age  the  society  and  care 
of  those  dearest  to  him.  This  desire  was  strengthened, 
of  course,  by  your  presence.  Oh,  you  have  no  idea  of 
the  fondness  and  pride  with  which  he  regards  you,  and 
the  efforts  he  has  made  to  inspire  me  with  his  own  ad 
miration!" 

"Nor  of  your  indifference  I"  interrupted  Eleanor, 
archly. 


260  WALTER  THORNLEY;  OR, 

"  Oh  no,  not  indifference,  dear  cousin ;  I  had  no  heart 
to  give." 

Eleanor  uttered  an  exclamation,  and  could  not  sup 
press  a  sigh. 

"Ah!"  thought  she,  "poor  Phil;  now  I  do,  indeed, 
feel  for  you." 

"Nothing,"  he  continued,  "could  have  preserved  me 
from  an  attachment  which  I  now  see  would  have  been 
hopeless  but  a  pre-engagement  of  my  honor  and  affec 
tion.  And  now,  how  shall  I  venture  'to  say  to  whom  ? 
how  ask  your  sympathy  for  one  so  far  below  you?" 

Eleanor  started.  She  began  to  fear  the  confidence  to 
which  she  had  so  readily  assented. 

"  Neither  fortune  nor  family — " 

"Oh,"  said  Eleanor,  much  relieved,  "if  that  be  all! 
But  tell  me,  tell  me  who  she  is." 

"Let  me  go  back  to  the  beginning.  She  is  the  child 
of  humble  parents,  was  born  in  my  grandfather's  house, 
and  remained  there  the  first  three  years  of  her  life." 

"What!  PriscillaDale?" 

"  The  same.    Are  you  mortified  for  me,  Eleanor?" 

"Not  mortified,  but — but  surprised,"  said  she,  too 
honest  to  conceal  her  feelings,  and  Philip  proceeded : 

"Both  motherless  children,  we  seemed  instinctively 
drawn  toward  each  other — -just  difference  enough  in  our 
ages  to  make  her  my  plaything,  and  me  her  protector. 
A  sister  of  her  father  came  from  England  to  live  with 
him,  and  the  child  left  us.  But  my  aunt's  interest  in 
her  continued ;  and,  from  time  to  time,  she  came  to  her 
for  better  instruction  than  she  could  get  elsewhere.  If 
she  was  industrious,  her  reward  was  to  remain  for  an 
hour's  play  with  me ;  and  when  I  was  in  especial  favor, 
my  reward  was  to  pass  a  day  at  the  Mill  Farm.  So  the 
time  passed  till  I  was  sent  to  school,  and  then  to  college 


A   PEEP   AT  THE   PAST.  261 

— my  holidays  always  the  more  welcome,  because  I 
should  again  see  Priscilla," 

"  And  my  grandfather  and  aunt — had  they  no  fears, 
no  suspicions  ?" 

"My  grandfather,  at  that  time  an  active  man  of  busi 
ness  and  a  warm  politician,  was  too  much  occupied  to 
observe  attentively  what  a  mere  boy  was  doing.  Be 
sides  which,  as  I  grew  older,  I  became  more  cautious, 
and  confined  my  intercourse  with  her  to  such  times  and 
places  as  would  excite  no  remark.  As  to  my  aunt,  she 
was  an  invalid,  and  had  few  opportunities  of  observation. 
Thus  it  went  on  till  my  final  return  home;  and  then, 
though  with  continually-increasing  affection,  I  formed 
no  purpose,  had  no  plan  for  the  future.  I  thought  only 
of  seeing  her ;  of  the  pleasure  of  being  with  her.  I  had 
never  even  mentioned  love  to  her,  though  I  could  not 
but  feel  that  there  was  but  one  heart  between  us.  At 
length  I  was  roused  from  this  dreamy  happiness  by  the 
rumor  of  a  lover  urged  on  her  by  her  father,  and  I  re 
solved  to  secure  her.  My  grandfather's  consent  to  our 
marriage  was  impossible.  The  very  suggestion  would 
be  an  offense  scarcely  pardonable.  A  clandestine  one, 
sure  to  be  discovered,  would  be  only  an  aggravated 
crime.  In  this  situation — a  madman  and  a  fool !"  con 
tinued  he,  with  startling  violence — "  bent  to  make  her 
my  own  on  any  terms,  I  tried — I  proposed,  in  a  moment 
when  her  yielding  tenderness  gave  me  courage,  a  solemn 
written  contract,  to  be  fulfilled  when  I  should  be  my 
own  master.  But,"  added  he,  hesitating,  and  covering 
his  face  with  his  hands,  "but,  though  my — wife  in  fact, 
for  the  present  no — no  marriage." 

Eleanor  turned  faint ;  she  had  heard  enough  and  too 
much.  The  guilty  embarrassment  of  Philip  left  no  doubt 
of  his  meaning.  He  was  in  her  presence  a  self-convict 
ed  betrayer  of  an  innocent,  confiding  girl.  "Without  at- 


262  WALTEK  THORNLEY;  OR, 

tempting  to  speak  she  endeavored  to  rise  and  leave  the 
room,  but  he  caught  her  hand  and  almost  forced  her  to 
be  seated. 

"Stay,  Eleanor!  you  have  not  heard  all.  Heaven 
and  Priscilla  saved  me  from  the  wicked  folly  I  was 
ready  to  commit." 

Eleanor  breathed  more  freely ;  raised  her  eyes  with  a 
look  expressive  of  thankfulness,  but  could  not  speak. 

"  Yes ;  she,  hitherto  the  gentlest  and  most  loving 
creature,  spurned  not  only  my  proposal,  but  myself! 
Yes,  spurned  me !  Oh,  you  can  not  know,  even  if  you 
had  seen  her,  the  spirit  that  kindles  those  dark  eyes 
when  roused !  I  was  banished.  No  entreaties,  no  pray 
ers  could  obtain  my  pardon,  nor  even  a  glimpse  of  her. 
At  length,  after  repeated  attempts  to  see  her,  I  was  in 
formed  that  she  had  gone  with  her  aunt  to  Pennsylvania, 
where  a  brother  of  her  father  resided.  Gone  ostensibly 
to  attend  a  yearly  meeting  of  their  sect,  but,  as  I  well 
knew,  to  avoid  me.  Her  aunt  returned  without  her. 
Their  friends  had  pressed  Priscilla  to  remain,  and  she 
did  so,  till  not  long  since." 

"And  then?  were  you  allowed  to  see  her?" 

"  To  see  her !  yes,  but  to  no  purpose.  You  recollect, 
perhaps,  the  evening  when  my  absence  from  home  caused 
some  uneasiness  ?" 

"  Yes,  perfectly ;  what  then?" 

11  That  evening  she  consented  to  see  me.  Up  to  that 
time,  notwithstanding  my  grandfather's  desires — almost 
his  commands — and  my  own  growing  affection  for  you, 
my  dear  cousin,  I  never  wavered  in  my  fidelity  to  Pris 
cilla.  The  object  of  this  interview  was  to  implore  her 
to  consent  to  an  immediate  private  union,  trusting,  by 
thus  hazarding  every  thing,  to  atone  for  my  offense,  and 
to  secure  her." 

"And  her  answer?" 


A  PEEP  AT  THE  PAST.  263 

"  Decided  and  inexorable ;  and  we  parted.  Despair, 
together  with  resentment,  now  stimulated  me,  and  I  re 
solved  to  conform  to  my  grandfather's  wishes.  You 
know  what  a  wretched  business  I  made  of  it,  and  will 
now  understand  why  I  could  not  even  desire  success.  I 
gain,  indeed,  nothing  by  my  failure  but  time — time,  yet 
to  make  peace  with  Priscilla;  perhaps  to  obtain  her  con 
sent  ;  and,  on  the  part  of  my  grandfather,  his  relinquish- 
ment  of  a  purpose  he  will  now  see  to  be  impracticable." 
Eleanor  had  listened  with  the  deepest  interest.  Ex 
tending  her  hand  to  Philip,  restored  to  her  confidence 
by  the  sacrifice  at  which  he  was  willing  to  atone  for  his 
fault,  she  said,  "  I  am  so  glad,  my  cousin,  that  I  can  love 
you  still.  Yet  I  have  a  thought  that  will  burn  out  my 
heart  if  I  do  not  speak  it.  It  is  not  for  me  to  decide  be 
tween  your  duty  to  grandpapa  and  what  is  due  to  Pris 
cilla.  I  can  but  admire  your  courage  and  generosity. 
But  I  have  somewhat  against  you,  for  all  that.  What 
right  had  you  to  consider  that  my  whole  heart,  without 
which  I  would  marry  no  man,  was  fairly  obtained  by  the 
mere  offer  of  an  unwilling  hand  ?  Had  you  gained  my 
affections,  what  had  you  to  give  me  in  exchange  ?  Noth 
ing  !  which  I  was,  of  course,  to  find  out  to  my  sorrow. 
No,  no,  Cousin  Phil,  it  is  bad,  it  is  wicked,  thus  to  trifle 
with  love.  Burn  no  false  fire  on  that  altar." 

He  felt  the  rebuke.  "  Dear  Eleanor,  it  was  base,  it  was 
unmanly ;  I  see  it  now  as  never  before ;  but  be  merciful, 
and  forgive  me." 

"I  have  already  done  so.  There  is  nothing  so  ener 
vating,  so  treacherous,  so  cruel,  as  fear.  Alas !  that 
grandpapa,  with  all  his  affection  for  you,  should  have 
held  you  in  subjection  to  this  bondage.  But  let  the  past 
be  past.  My  sympathy  is  yours,  and  my  respect  for 
Priscilla  you  can  not  doubt.  How  far  she  is  fitted  for 
the  position  you  would  give  her,  of  course,  I  can  not 
judge." 


264 

"Ah!"  said  Philip,  with  a  smile,  "you  can  not,  my 
sweet  cousin,  from  your  height,  see  far  enough  into  my 
lowly  little  Quaker  girl  to  do  her  justice.  But  you  will, 
by-and-by,  I  am  sure,  or  you  are  not  so  good  as  I  believe 
you  to  be.  It  is  unreasonable,  though,  to  detain  you 
longer.  It  is  time  you  should  retire.  Oh,  you  can  not 
know  how  much  good  you  have  done  me!  No,  no," 
added  he,  interpreting  rightly  her  arch  smile,  "not  by 
your  rejection,  but  by  your  sympathy.  Good -night, 
dear  Eleanor." 

They  parted — Philip  to  ponder  on  his  grandfather's 
reception  of  his  failure,  Eleanor  to  "moralize  the  spec 
tacle"  in  her  own  way. 

With  her  associations  and  education  she  could  not  but 
be  somewhat  shocked  by  so  incongruous  a  union.  But, 
though  trained  in  habits  of  filial  respect  and  obedience, 
hers  had  been  "a  reasonable  service" — not  under  the 
iron  rule  of  the  preceding  generation,  nor  yet  lowered 
to  the  modern  familiarity,  by  which  a  perfect  equality  is 
established  between  parent  and  child.  She  could,  there 
fore,  see  the  conflict  of  duties  in  the  present  case,  and 
the  enfeebling  effect  on  a  naturally  generous  and  manly 
temper  of  a  system  that  inspired  no  confidence. 

"  Ah !"  thought  she,  "  how  differently  would  one  that 
I  know  have  acted  under  such  circumstances.  If  op 
posed  in  a  virtuous  attachment,  how  bravely  would  he 
have  avowed  his  love!  how  would  gold  have  melted 
away  before  it !  how  would  rank  have  burst  like  a  bub 
ble  !  No  crooked  path  would  he  have  trod — no  timid 
course  pursued!  But,  after  all,  Cousin  Phil  is  to  be 
pitied,  perhaps,  more  than  blamed;  and  if  this  little 
maid  of  the  mill  is  really  what  he  fancies,  I  do  hope  he 
will  have  the  courage  to  marry  her  like  a  man." 


A  PEEP  AT   THE   PAST.  265 


CHAPTER  XXY. 

THE  next  morning  the  breakfast  passed  cheerfully. 
No  cloud  rose  even  "as  big  as  a  man's  hand."  Mr. 
Lawrence,  understanding  that  the  young  people  had  had 
a  long  tete-d-tete  evening,  concluded  that,  if  Phil  were  not 
a  booby,  he  had  opened  the  business ;  and,  if  so,  their 
present  amicable  relations  justified  a  hope  of  the  happi 
est  result.  In  this  belief,  he  directed  his  grandson  to  at 
tend  his  toilet. 

A  few  words  served  to  demolish  the  castle  that  years 
had  built.  At  first  it  was  difficult  to  say  where  the  bolt 
of  his  anger  would  fall — on  Eleanor  for  refusing,  or  on 
Philip  for  being  refused.  When,  however,  the  family 
met  at  dinner,  a  more  discriminating  justice  than  was  to 
be  expected  directed  it  entirely  against  Eleanor,  who, 
though  aware  that  her  decision  would  pain  her  grand 
father,  had  no  apprehension  of  the  manner  in  which  it 
would  be  evinced.  This  was  not  long  doubtful.  Mr. 
Lawrence,  having  had  a  slight  touch  of  Eleanor's  spirit 
in  her  defense  of  Phyllis,  rather  shrunk  from  a  fair  fight 
with  her ;  but  this  he  made  up  for  by  a  series  of  small 
attacks,  the  more  vexatious  as  they  could  be  neither  re 
pelled  nor  noticed.  Instead  of  the  greeting,  at  once  kind 
and  playful,  with  which  he  usually  seated  her  at  table, 
she  took  a  place  unheeded.  No  nice  morsel  solicitously 
selected,  and  sent  to  her  unasked,  she  remained  unat 
tended  to,  till  Phyllis,  having  stood  some  time,  plate  in 
hand,  purposely  unseen,  at  length  was  carelessly  asked, 
"For  whom?"  as  if  he  were  unconscious  whose  little 
serving-maid  she  was.  Instead  of  the  accustomed  glass 

M 


266  WALTER  THORNLEY;  OR, 

of  wine  with  her  grandfather,  not  a  word  was  addressed 
to  her.  She  was,  in  short,  made  to  feel  as  ranch  as  pos 
sible,  by  negations  of  every  kind,  how  entirely  the  sun 
of  her  favor  was  set.  Not  that  this  was  really  so.  Mr. 
Lawrence  could  not  so  easily  abandon  a  cherished  proj 
ect.  He  flattered  himself  Eleanor's  refusal  was  a  mere 
girlish  freak  to  prove  her  power ;  or  that  Philip  had  been 
precipitate,  and  that  a  little  more  time  and  intercourse 
would  excite  the  corresponding  feeling  on  her  part.  Of 
Phil's  indifference  he  had  not  the  least  suspicion.  He 
thought  him,  indeed,  not  so  passionate  a  wooer  as  he 
himself  would  be  in  the  like  case ;  but  this  he  imputed 
to  the  change  -of  manners — the  execrable  decay  of  all 
true  gallantry  and  devotion ;  all  owing  to  the  French 
Eevolution,  with  which,  Democrat  as  he  was,  he  had  be 
come  thoroughly  disgusted.  Oh!  had  he  known  the 
fact !  Still  hoping  for  success,  he  thought  that,  in  the 
mean  time,  it  would  not  be  amiss  to  show  Eleanor,  by 
the  temporary  withdrawal  of  his  favor,  how  much  it  was 
really  worth. 

It  would  be  difficult  to  say  who  suffered  most  by  the 
experiment,  Eleanor  or  his  grandson.  She,  grieved  and 
oppressed,  the  tears  ready  to  fall  from  eyes  that  she  did 
not  dare  to  turn  toward  Mr.  Lawrence,  her  dinner  near 
ly  untouched,  yet  not  presuming  to  leave  the  table,  sat 
like  a  culprit;  while  Philip,  unprepared  for  this  dis 
pleasure,  felt  self-condemned  that  he  did  not  share  it 
with  her. 

The  cloth  was  removed,  but  no  cordiality  nor  pleas 
antry  succeeded.  No  remembrance  of  u  absent  friends" 
to  draw  the  nearer  those  who  were  present.  No  repeti 
tion  of  his  jocose  and  favorite  toast, 

"  Here's  to  our  friends  !  but  as  to  our  foes, 
Short  shoes,  and  corns  on  their  toes  !" 

Only  a  joyless  formality,  unbroken  except  by  an  occa- 


A   PEEP   AT   THE   PAST.  267 

sional  remark  addressed  to  his  daughter  or  to  Philip — 
never  to  Eleanor. 

Unable  longer  to  endure  this,  she  left  the  table  as  soon 
as  was  admissible,  taking  refuge  in  the  drawing-room, 
whence  a  view  of  the  river  suggested  to  her  an  escape, 
on  which  she  was  reflecting,  when  Philip,  with  a  dis 
tressed  countenance,  entered. 

"  Eleanor,"  said  he,  "  I  can  not  bear  this.  I  will  con 
fess  every  thing.  It  is  base  to  let  you  suffer  when  I  am 
the  only  one  in  fault.  I  will  at  least  share  your  dis 
grace." 

"  No,  no,  on  no  account.  To  involve  you  would  not 
help  me.  I  suffer,  'tis  true,  unjustly,  but  still  for  my  own 
act,  which  nothing  that  you  could  have  done  would  have 
prevented.  Be  easy ;  you  are  guiltless  in  regard  to  me. 
Nay,  I  insist  on  your  silence.  In  a  few  days  I  shall  be 
at  home,  and  shall  forget  these  troubles.  By-and-by, 
when  the  storm  has  passed,  I'll  come  again,  if  grand 
papa  will  let  me.  In  the  mean  time,  you  must  come  to 
us,  and  I  will  introduce  you  to  some  right  pleasant  young 
persons,  and  we  will  have  merry  times  again." 

But  her  amiable  efforts  to  console  him  only  increased 
his  concern.  The  idea  of  her  leaving  them  was  intoler 
able.  She  had  "made  it  sunshine  in  a  shady  place." 
He  had  known  a  pleasure  in  her  companionship  he  could 
not  now  do  without,  especially  in  the  involvement  of  his 
present  anxiety;  but,  declaring  her  departure  impera 
tive,  Eleanor  retired  to  her  room  to  write  to  her  mother. 
Here  she  had  hardly  seated  herself  before  a  gentle  tap 
announced  her  aunt. 

"My  dear  child,"  said  she,  "I  am  so  grieved!  Papa 
has  told  me  all.  Poor  Phil  1  I  know  not  which  is  most 
to  be  pitied,  he  or  myself." 

Eleanor  could  not  suppress  a  smile.  "Dear  aunt, 
trust  me  that  Cousin  Philip  will  not  die  of  a  broken 


268  WALTER  THOKNLEY;  OB, 

heart  on  my  account ;  and  you,  I  hope,  will  find  conso 
lation  in  some  one  much  better  than  your  insensible 
niece." 

"  Oh  no,  Eleanor,  never.  You  can  not  comprehend 
the  happiness  you  have  shed  on  my  solitary  life.  The 
hope  of  keeping  you  here  has  been  to  me  like  the  fabu 
lous  elixir.  But  you  were  about  to  write — not  to  your 
mother?" 

"  Yes ;  to  inform  her  of  my  return." 

"  That  is  just  what  I  am  sent  to  prevent.  Papa  de 
sires  she  may  not  know  what  has  passed,  and  that  you 
will  not  think  of  leaving  Eosenberg  at  present." 

"Oh,  I  must  go  I" 

li  But,  my  dear !  The  wishes  of  papa  are  commands, 
you  know." 

"Commands!"  repeated  Eleanor ;  "commands  that  I 
shall  not  go,  nor  write  to  my  own  mother!" 

"  Yes,  even  so ;  here  his  word  is  law." 

"  Oh,  dear  aunt !  perhaps  'tis  disrespectful  to  say  so, 
but  I  can  not  help  it.  You've  all  made  grandpapa  a 
tyrant  by  your  slavish  fears.  He  would  be  just  and 
reasonable,  I  am  sure,  had  he  not  been  spoiled  by  this 
irrational  submission.  Do,  dearest  aunt,  be  a  little  more 
resolute  for  his  sake." 

Miss  Lawrence  did  not  answer,  and  Eleanor  saw,  by 
her  closed  eyes  and  contracted  brow,  that  some  painful 
thought  occupied  her. 

"'Tis  too  late!  too  lateF'  said  she,  at  length,  rather 
reflecting  than  speaking  to  another;  "Life  has  passed 
me  by ;  I  can  not  now  arrest  the  stream.  If  I  have 
made  a  mistake,  it  has  not  been  wholly  from  the  weak 
ness  you  ascribe  it  to.  But  let  us  speak  of  yourself, 
Eleanor.  By  complying  with  papa's  request  you  will 
soothe  his  present  irritation ;  by  refusing,  you  will  re 
open  the  breach  with  your  parents  so  lately  closed. 


A  PEEP  AT  THE  PAST.  269 

This,  I  think,  will  reconcile  you  to  the  surrender  of  your 
own  wishes.  As  to  Philip,  he  will  not  be  deceived  into 
a  vain  hope  by  your  remaining ;  he  will  understand  that 
it  is  compulsory." 

"  Oh,"  said  Eleanor,  with  an  irrepressible  laugh,  "  I 
am  not  deterred  by  fear  of  any  such  consequence.  Phil 
and  I  perfectly  comprehend  each  other." 

Miss  Lawrence  cast  a  glance  on  her,  half-reproachful, 
and,  rising,  said,  "Well,  my  dear,  you  will,  at  least,  allow 
me  to  tell  papa  that  you  consent." 

"  Yes ;  with  one  reserve.  I  will  not  write.  I  will  re 
main,  but  not  to  be  treated  as  I  was  to-day.  I  wish 
never  to  fail  in  respect  and  obedience  to  grandpapa;  and, 
therefore,  I  dare  not  subject  myself  to  what  I  know  I 
could  not  patiently  bear." 

To  complicate  matters,  the  gout  appeared — the  result 
of  nervous  agitation — and  Mr.  Lawrence  was  confined  to 
his  chamber. 

Eleanor  sent  to  beg  she  might  be  admitted  to  read,  as 
usual,  but  the  offer  was  declined,  and  in  such  a  manner 
that  it  was  plain  she  would  not  soon  be  permitted  to 
have  the  privilege. 

Several  days  passed,  during  which  it  was  by  no  means 
easy  to  preserve  the  peace  in  Mr.  Lawrence's  sick-room. 
The  attack  was  not  violent,  and  at  intervals  he  might, 
if  he  would,  have  found  a  solace  in  an  agreeable  book ; 
but  neither  the  offers  of  his  daughter  nor  of  Philip  were 
accepted.  Mrs.  Dorothy  very  humbly  proffered  her  serv 
ices,  but  only  to  be  rejected.  At  length,  after  ponder 
ing  and  hesitating,  she  ventured  to  say, 

"  I  do  believe  I  have  thought  of  what  may  suit  you, 
sir.  Suppose  you  try  Priscilla  Dale,  sir." 

"  Priscilla  Dale !  Pshaw !  nonsense !  She'd  drive  me 
mad!" 

"  Why,  sir,  she's  an  excellent  reader !    Miss  Lawrence 


270  WALTER  THORNLEY;  OK, 

took  ever  so  much  pains  with  her,  and  she  came  every 
day  to  read  to  her  when  she  used  to  be  so  poorly.  Dear 
me !  I'm  sure  nobody'd  'a  thought  then  that  she'd  live 
to  see  this  day !  You  haven't  forgot  that  time,  sir,  I'm 
sure." 

"  No,  woman !"  exclaimed  Mr.  Lawrence,  violently ; 
"  and,  if  I  had,  you  would  never  cease  to  remind  me. 
No;  I  won't  have  Priscilla  Dale!" 

Her  habitual  fear  overcome  by  her  real  desire  to  re 
lieve  him,  Mrs.  Dorothy  ventured  a  little  farther,  and 
suggested  that  Mr.  Philip  might  ask  her  to  come  "just 
on  trial." 

But  Phil,  alarmed  at  the  idea  of  such  an  embassy,  cer 
tain,  too,  to  fail  in  his  hands,  answered,  hastily, 

"  No,  no,  Mrs.  Dorothy,  that  will  never  do ;  she  won't 
come !" 

These  few  words  settled  the  matter. 

"Won't  come!  won't  come!"  repeated  Mr. Lawrence, 
"  when  /send !  a  girl  who  owes  every  thing  to  us  1  I'd 
like  to  see  her  refuse !  Go  to  her  this  instant,  Phil,  and 
tell  her  to  come  to  me.  I'll  try  her,  if  only  to  punish 
her  pride." 

.  There  was  nothing  to  be  done  but  to  appear  to  obey ; 
when,  to  his  great  relief,  Miss  Lawrence  undertook  to 
dispatch  a  note,  which,  she  doubted  not,  would  bring 
her;  and,  while  this  is  on  its  way,  it  may  not  be  amiss  to 
peep  into  the  neat  little  domicil  whither  it  is  traveling. 

About  two  miles  from  Eosenberg  was  the  "Mill 
Farm."  The  mill,  whence  it  derived  its  name,  turned 
by  a  never-failing  stream,  together  with  the  good  char 
acter  of  the  miller  and  his  meal,  had  secured  the  custom 
of  the  country  round  for  many  miles. 

Joseph  Dale,  the  occupant,  a  Quaker,  who  had  many 
years  before  left  England  a  poor  man,  had,  by  industry 
and  thrift,  arrived  at  what  to  him  was  competence — a 


A  PEEP  AT  THE  PAST.  271 

respectable  living,  with,  something  "laid  by  for  a  rainy 
day."  He  had  at  first  a  hard  struggle ;  but  Mr.  Law 
rence,  of  whom  he  had  taken  a  long  lease  on  easy  terms, 
had  been  not  only  an  indulgent  landlord,  but  a  good 
friend.  With  improving  circumstances  Mr.  Dale  had 
carried  out  his  English  and  Quaker  tastes.  The  rude, 
ill-constructed,  weather-beaten  house  had  been  repaired, 
painted,  and  bettered  in  many  ways.  The  little  walk 
which  conducted  from  it  to  the  mill  had  been  shaded  by 
a  row  of  trees ;  and  a  garden,  at  the  foot  of  which  his 
Pactolus — the  mill-stream — glided  along,  was  always  the 
best  and  the  earliest  in  the  neighborhood.  Fences,  out 
houses,  and  land,  all  showed  his  intelligent  care;  and, 
when  driving  his  sister  and  daughter  in  his  capacious 
chaise,  drawn  by  a  sleek,  well-fed  horse,  in  a  suit  of  gray 
not  unlike  their  own,  they  presented  altogether  an  im 
age  of  comfort  and  respectability  that  some  of  their  rich 
er  neighbors  might  have  envied. 

Within,  the  dwelling  was  the  very  temple  of  neat 
ness,  of  which  Esther  Dale  and  Priscilla  were  the  priest 
esses  ;  and  Martha,  an  orphan  girl,  at  first  taken  for  char 
ity,  now  their  only  help,  was  a  faithful  ministrant. 

Esther  Dale,  a  woman  of  sense  and  feeling,  with  a 
good  plain  education,  had  been,  though  not  a  preacher, 
an  occasional  exhorter,  when  so  "  moved."  This  gave 
to  her  manner  and  language  an  increased  precision,  to 
which  was  added  an  attachment  to  her  sect  that  narrow 
ed  her  views  of  the  "  world's  people."  By  this  last  her 
niece  was  unaffected,  though  she  had  naturally  caught 
something  of  the  former.  Her  brother,  not  less  honest, 
was  more  liberal.  He  had  seen  sufficient  cause  to  be 
lieve  that  goodness  was  not  found  only  under  a  broad 
brim  and  a  drab  coat ;  and,  while  an  attentive  observer 
of  the  forms  of  a  people  who  profess  to  discard  form,  he 
did  not  believe  in  their  essential  importance. 


272  WALTER  THORNLEY;  OR, 

On  the  afternoon  alluded  to,  Priscilla  and  her  aunt — 
the  day's  work  over — were  in  their  quiet  little  "  sitting- 
room,"  the  windows  of  which,  opening  to  the  poet's  cor 
ner,  the  sweet  southwest,  disclosed  a  small  flower-garden 
spread  beneath  them.  Here,  as  if  that  instinct  of  beauty 
implanted  in  the  human  breast  would  vindicate  itself, 
were  to  be  seen  the  gayest  combinations  of  colors ;  and 
sober  eyes,  that  turned  from  all  the  glories  of  earth, 
could  not  shut  out  the  gorgeous  hues  and  the  brilliant 
lights  of  the  evening  sky. 

On  the  hearth 

"The  kettle  whisp'ring  its  faint  under-song" 

gave  note  of  preparation  for  their  early  tea.  The  floor, 
white  and  scantily  carpeted,  and  the  polished  pine  ta 
bles,  attested  the  patient  labors  of  Martha.  At  every 
door  little  mats  of  list — home  manufactory — mounted 
guard  to  defend  the  sacred  precincts  from  gravel  and 
soil.  Chairs  of  the  prevailing  straight,  high  -  backed 
form,  but  of  inexpensive  bilested  wood,  well  oiled,  were 
a  good  substitute  for  mahogany.  There  was  literally  no 
article  of  ornament  in  the  room.  On  one  side  hung  a 
map  of  Great  Britain — left,  but  not  forgotten !  on  the 
other  was  a  small  bilsted  press,  the  upper  part  a  book 
case,  containing  their  literary  staple,  with  drawers  be 
low,  whose  brass  handles  shone  resplendent. 

Among  the  books  were  "  A  History  of  the  People 
called  'Quakers,'  by  William  Sewall;"  "Journal  of  the 
Life  and  Travels  of  George  Fox ;"  "  The  History  of  the 
Life  of  Thomas  Ell  wood;"  Barclay's  "Apology  for  the 
true  Christian  Divinity,  as  the  same  is  held  forth  and 
preached  by  the  people  called  in  scorn  'Quakers;'" 
"Life  of  William  Penn;"  "No  Cross,  no  Crown;"  Wil 
liam  Penn's  "  Eules  for  the  Regulation  of  his  Family,  or 
Christian  Discipline;  or,  Good  and  Wholesome  Orders 
for  the  well-governing  of  the  same ;"  Biographies  and 


A  PEEP  AT  THE  PAST.  273 

Experiences  of  several  eminent  Quakers;  "Guthrie's 
Gazetteer,"  and  "  Entick's  Dictionary." 

From  a  volume  in  Esther's  hand,  she  was  reading 
aloud  to  Priscilla,  seated  by  her  side,  sewing  "  fine  linen" 
for  her  father,  who,  despising  "  embroidery  and  vain  ap 
parel,"  moderately  indulged  in  this  luxury.  The  pas 
sage  selected  was  a  portion  of  the  beautiful  letter  ad 
dressed  by  Penn  to  his  wife  and  children  previous  to  his 
first  embarkation  for  this  country. 

"Hearken,  Priscilla,"  said  her  aunt,  "to  this  godly 
and  wise  man.  'Agriculture  I  especially  commend. 
Let  my  children  be  husbandmen  and  housewives ;  it  is 
industrious,  healthy,  honest,  and  of  good  example.  Like 
Abraham  and  the  holy  ancients,  who  pleased  God  and 
obtained  a  good  report.'  " 

"Yes,"  said  Priscilla;  "he  was,  I  doubt  not,  a  wise 
man,  and  as  full  of  love  as  of  wisdom ;  for  in  the  con 
clusion  of  this  same  letter  those  tender  words  meet  us, 
that  have  always  dwelt  in  my  memory.  'Yours,'  he 
saith  to  his  wife,  'yours  in  that  which  no  waters  can 
quench,  no  time  forget,  nor  distance  wear  away,  but  re- 
maineth  forever!' " 

"But  thou  must  remember,  Priscilla,"  said  Esther, 
with  a  scrutinizing  look,  "  that  the  love  of  which  he  thus 
speaketh  was  bred  of  a  godly  mind ;  and  observe,  far 
ther,  how  he  enforceth  this.  For,  advising  of  his  children, 
he  saith, '  "When  marriageable,  see  that  they  have  worthy 
persons  in  their  eye;  of  good  life,  and  good  fame  for 
piety  and  understanding.'  Now,  by  '  understanding,'  it 
is  manifest  that  he  meant  not  carnal  gifts ;  for  what  doth 
Scripture  say? — 'A  good  understanding  have  all  they 
that  love  thy  law.' " 

Priscilla,  not  inclined  to  a  conversation  the  tendency 
whereof  she  was  well  aware,  was  glad  to  be  relieved  by 
the  entrance  of  Pomp,  with  a  note  from  Miss  Lawrence. 

M2 


274  WALTER  THORNLEY;  OR, 

Esther  observed  her  closely.  She  marked  her  vary 
ing  color  and  startled  look.  But  Priscilla,  taught  to  con 
trol  her  emotions,  soon  recovered  her  usual  calm  exte 
rior,  and,  having  dismissed  Pomp  to  await  her  answer, 
she  handed  the  note  to  her  aunt.  She  read  it,  and  re 
turned  it  without  comment,  saying,  "  Is  the  young  man 
Philip  at  home?" 

"  Not  often,  I  think.  He  spendeth  much  time  in  the 
woods,  and  on  the  river." 

"  Verily,  a  gainful  occupation !"  replied  Esther,  coldly. 
"  Slaughtering  God's  harmless  creatures  for  his  amuse 
ment." 

Now  it  is  not  to  be  inferred  that  she  disliked  Philip. 
On  the  contrary,  she  was  no  exception  to  the  general  fa 
vor  he  found : 

"With  eye  so  merry,  and  a  foot  so  light, 
That  none  could  chide  his  gamesomeness." 

She  had,  indeed,  often  rebuked  his  taste  for  what  she 
considered  murderous  sports,  held  in  abhorrence  by  her 
sect;  yet  once,  when  her  brother  had  been  left  by  a 
wasting  fever  with  a  sickly  appetite,  she  gladly  received 
the  frequent  bag  of  game,  nor  scrupulously  counted  the 
little  lives  that  went  to  fill  it.  Nor  would  any  one  so 
surely  raise  a  smile  on  her  habitually  grave  face  as  "  the 
young  man  Philip." 

But  those  days  were  past.  A  woman's  instinct,  surer 
than  "Suspicion's  hundred  eyes,"  had  alarmed  her  for  her 
niece ;  and,  together  with  her  desire  to  promote  her  mar 
riage  with  a  thriving  young  Quaker  suitor,  led  her  to 
discourage  an  intimacy  which  she  feared  could  only  pro 
duce  unhappiness.  For  this  reason  she  had  favored  the 
long  sojourn  among  their  distant  friends;  and,  perceiv 
ing  that  Philip's  visits  were  not  renewed,  she  hoped  the 
danger  was  passed.  The  request  of  Miss  Lawrence  was 
therefore  as  unpleasant  as  unexpected. 


A  PEEP  AT  THE  PAST.  275 

Priscilla  did  not  reply  to  her  aunt's  unfavorable  ob 
servation,  but  looked  perplexed  and  uneasy. 

"  I  see,"  said  Esther,  "  that  thy  spirit  is  troubled  with 
in  thee.  Thou  hast  a  divided  mind  between  duty  to 
thy  friend  Gertrude  and  to  thyself." 

Priscilla  did  not  confirm,  though  she  could  not  deny, 
her  aunt's  assertion. 

"  My  child,"  continued  Esther,  earnestly,  "spread  her 
letter,  like  Eabshakeh's,  'before  the  Lord,'  and  verily 
thou  shalt  be  heard.  Be  not  disheartened ;  thou  know- 
est, l  No  cross,  no  crown.' " 

"  I  will  do  as  my  father  shall  advise,"  replied  Priscil 
la,  hearing  his  approaching  footstep ;  and,  as  he  entered, 
she  put  the  note  into  his  hand,  saying,  "  I  wish  to  do  in 
this  matter,  father,  as  seemeth  best  unto  thee." 

Now  Joseph  Dale  was  too  busy  with  mill  and  farm, 
and  the  cares,  large  and  small,  of  his  industrious  life,  to 
have  time  for  close  in-door  observation.  It  had  proba 
bly  never  crossed  his  mind  to  question  what  the  visits  of 
Philip  might  tend  to,  continued,  as  they  had  been,  from 
his  childhood.  "  He  was,"  he  thought,  "  a  sensible  lad, 
and  a  good  one ;  and,  moreover,  his  laughter  was  pleas 
ant  to  the  hearer ;"  for,  from  under  the  restraint  of  Quak 
er  manners,  there  often  wells  forth  a  spring  of  mirth 
that  mingles  readily  with  its  like.  Nor  was  his  scrutiny 
quickened  by  the  religious  zeal  of  his  sister.  He  was 
well  aware  that  as  yet  Priscilla's  conformity  consisted 
only  in  "dress  and  address."  He  could  wish  it  other 
wise,  but  this  "  was  not  for  him  to  bring  to  pass."  Had 
he  feared  that  she  was  in  danger  of  violating  her  own 
convictions,  he  would  have  been  much  disturbed.  But 
habits,  the  result  of  education  merely,  must,  he  knew, 
be  liable  to  change ;  and  he  held  that  she  could  yet  be 
a  Christian  woman,  even  though  her  speech  and  apparel 
were  altered. 


276  WALTER  THOKNLEY;  OK, 

Having  read  the  note,  he  replied,  "  I  marvel  what  thee 
means?  Friend  Lawrence  and  his  daughter  have  never 
failed  to  us ;  and,  if  they  desire  this  small  favor  at  thy 
hands,  I  should  be  loth  to  deny  them.  Go,  therefore,  of 
a  certainty." 

Esther,  by  look  rather  than  word,  expressed  a  demur 
rer,  which  Joseph  perceiving  said,  "  That  is,  if  thy  aunt 
can  spare  thee.  I  would  not  have  her  cumbered  by  too 
much  serving,  yet,  rather  than  thee  should  say  nay  in  this 
matter,  I  advise  thee  to  seek  some  one  to  assist  her  in 
thy  stead." 

Esther  knew  her  brother  well  enough  to  understand 
that,  once  having  decided,  he  was  little  likely  to  change 
his  opinion ;  and,  as  in  such  a  case  words  would  be  use 
less,  she,  with  her  usual  dislike  to  superfluous  expendi 
ture,  spared  them,  and  Priscilla  dismissed  Pomp  with 
the  desired  answer. 


A   PEEP  AT  THE  PAST.  277 


CHAPTEK  XXYI. 

THE  next  day,  as  Eleanor  was  alone  in  the  parlor,  ab 
sorbed  in  a  book,  the  door  opened,  but  so  noiselessly 
that  she  was  not  aware  of  the  entrance  of  any  one  till  a 
near  step  drew  her  attention;  and,  turning,  she  found 
herself  confronted  by  a  young  girl  whom  she  had  never 
before  seen.  She  was  apparently  not  much  older  than 
herself,  lower  in  stature,  but  of  such  fair  proportions, 
and  so  erect  a  carriage,  that  height  was  not  necessary  to 
confer  dignity.  Nor  had  her  natural  flexibility  of  limb 
and  movement  been  repressed  by  the  primness  of  her 
dress.  This  was  a  gown  of  gray  chambray — a  silk  and 
cotton  material,  then  much  used — with  the  long,  tight 
Quaker  waist,  unrelieved  by  any  garniture ;  a  muslin 
handkerchief  crossed  over  her  breast,  sleeves  tight  to  be 
low  the  elbow,  and  there  met  by  long  gray  kid  mitts. 
Her  gown  was  just  short  enough  to  show  that  she  wore 
the  low  "spring-heels,"  not  in  order  to  affect  height,  but 
for  greater  neatness.  She  had  a  shawl  of  the  same  color, 
and  a  bonnet  of  the  Quaker  fashion ;  but  from  under  it 
looked  out  a  pair  of  eyes  in  strange  contrast  with  this 
sad-colored  attire.  They  were  of  that  form  and  color 
described  as  "Italian,"  soft  as  the  dove's,  but  in  their 
rich  depths  a  fire  burned.  Her  brow  was  strongly  mark 
ed,  and,  in  keeping  with  her  mouth,  gave  more  of  char 
acter  and  firmness  to  her  face  than  beauty.  But  a  clear 
and  smooth  complexion — the  usual  accompaniment  of 
her  dark  auburn  hair — atoned  for  any  irregularities; 
rendering  the  whole,  though  not  faultless,  at  once  strik 
ing  and  pleasing — a  face  which,  if  it  could  not  defy  crit 
icism,  was  sure  of  admiration. 


278  WALTER  THORNLEY;  OR, 

Eleanor  was  not  long  in  doubt  as  to  who  she  was. 

"Well,"  thought  she,  "  if  Cousin  Philip  could  afford 
to  be  silent  about  her  external  charms,  she  must  have  a 
great  deal  besides." 

"Miss  Dale,  is  it  not?"  said  she,  offering  her  hand. 

"Not  so,"  replied  the  young  girl;  "Priscilla  Dale 
better  pleaseth  me.  And  thou  art — " 

"  Eleanor  Meredith." 

"  So  I  did  suppose." 

Having  placed  a  chair  for  her,  Eleanor  assisted  in  re 
moving  her  hat,  and  saw,  admiringly,  the  little  white 
cypress  gauze  cap  that  shaded,  but  could  not  conceal  her 
rich  hair. 

The  few  commonplaces  exchanged  about  weather, 
walking,  etc.,  both  were  silent.  Eleanor  thought  she 
perceived  the  impress  of  Miss  Lawrence  in  the  refine 
ment  of  her  voice  and  manner,  and  in  the  accuracy  of 
her  speech — free  from  the  usual  Quaker  offenses  against 
grammar;  but,  fearing  to  embarrass,  restrained  her  de 
sire  to  look  at  her;  while  Priscilla  fixed  her  eyes  on 
Eleanor,  not  with  the  gaze  of  ill-bred  curiosity,  but  a  sad 
intentness  that  betrayed  a  more  than  common  interest. 

To  a  person  curious  in  the  effect  of  modes  of  thought 
on  manners,  they  might  have  been  a  profitable  study. 
The  one,  unspoiled  by  the  world,  but  not  ignorant  of  its 
prescriptions — neither  selfish  nor  arrogant,  yet  not  indif 
ferent  to  her  advantages  of  wealth  and  position — was  con 
strained,  from  the  fear  of  doing  either  too  little  or  too 
much.  The  other,  undisturbed  by  a  question  for  her 
already  settled,  not  by  propriety  or  expediency,  but  on 
grounds  far  higher,  was  calm  and  self-possessed.  Taught 
to  honor  no  man  for  external  distinctions,  she  was  un 
moved  in  their  presence,  and  was  absorbed  in  far  dif 
ferent  reflections  as  she  continued  her  observations  of 
Eleanor. 


A  PEEP  AT  THE  PAST.  279 

"  She  is  surely  comely  to  behold,"  she  thought.  "  It 
is  no  marvel  that  she  should  find  favor  in  his  eyes ;  but, 
unless  her  face  belie  her,  she  has  that  also  which  is 
better." 

The  entrance  of  Miss  Lawrence  gave  a  new  direction 
to  their  thoughts.  Priscilla  warmed  into  animation, 
and  approaching  her,  took  her  extended  hand  between 
hers,  and,  in  reply  to  her  friend's  kind  greeting,  replied, 
"It  rejoiceth  me  to  see  thee."  Then,  gazing  on  her 
lovingly,  she  added,  "  and  thou  art  well  too,  and  strong, 
and  young — almost  as  young  and  fair  as  this  thy 
niece." 

"  Ah !  Priscilla,"  said  Miss  Lawrence,  tapping  her  cheek, 
"  how  have  you,  under  the  safeguard  of  a  Quaker  cap, 
learned  to  flatter?" 

"  Flatter !"  repeated  Priscilla,  with  a  smile ;  "  nay,  not 
so.  I  have  heard  a  man,  learned  in  the  law,  tell  my  fa 
ther  that  evil  words,  if  not  false,  were  no  libel.  Then 
fair  words,  if  true,  are  no  flattery.  Are  we  allowed  to 
utter  truth  only  when  it  giveth  pain?" 

"  The  truth — that  is  just  the  question.  I  own,  how 
ever,  I  am.  in  health  at  least,  much  improved.  My  niece 
has  been  my  best  physician.  But,"  added  Miss  Law 
rence,  with  a  look  of  kind  scrutiny,  "you  are  a  little 
thinner,  and  rather  paler.  What  have  those  strict  Penn 
sylvania  friends  been  doing  with  you?  I  am  glad  to 
see,  however,  that  my  favorite  hair  has  not  turned  Quaker 
yet." 

"No,"  said  Priscilla,  with  a  smile,  smoothing  away 
some  refractory  curls  that  had  escaped  from  her  cap, 
"no,  though  I  do  try  to  make  it  better  conform." 

"And  how  happens  it  that  you  have  been  so  long  re 
turned  without  coming  to  see  me  till  I  sent  for  you  ? 
That  is  not  like  you,  Priscilla." 

Priscilla,  dropping  her  eyelids  and  folding  her  hands, 


280  WALTEK  THOKNLEY;  OK, 

for  an  instant  offered  no  excuse,  while  Eleanor,  moved 
by  pity  and  curiosity,  listened  for  her  answer. 

"It  hath  not  been  my  fault,  but  it  hath  been  a  sore 
grief  to  me.  I  know  thou  wilt  pardon  me  if  I  can  not 
farther  satisfy  thee." 

Miss  Lawrence,  supposing  it  to  be  some  restrictions  on 
the  part  of  her  aunt,  who  feared  any  influence  at  vari 
ance  with  Quakerism,  set  the  matter  at  rest  by  saying, 
"  You  deserve  my  confidence,  Priscilla,  because  you  nev 
er  doubt  it.  And  now  let  us  go  to  papa,  who  expects 
you  in  his  room,  because  not  well  enough  to  leave  it." 

She  led  the  way,  and  Priscilla  prepared  to  follow  her, 
but  Eleanor  could  not  part  with  her  thus. 

"  Let  us,"  said  she,  "be  better  acquainted.  When  you 
have  the  time,  will  you  come  to  see  me  too,  and  allow 
me  to  visit  you  ?" 

"It  is  kindly  spoken  of  thee,  Eleanor,  but  it  is,  never 
theless,  not  best  for  thee,  nor  for  me,  thus  to  do.  Do 
not  think  me  unthankful ;  I  feel  that  I  should  love  thee 
well,  were  it  permitted.  Farewell !"  and  she  was  gone. 

"So,"  thought  Eleanor,  "my  overtures  rejected  by 
the  little  maid  of  the  mill !  but  what  a  majesty  there  is 
in  truth  and  simplicity !  Now  I,  in  the  same  circum 
stances,  would  have  gone  beating  about  for  excuses,  in 
order  not  to  compromise  myself  by  an  allusion  to  the 
real  fact.  She  comes  directly  to  the  point.  *  It  is  not 
best  for  thee  nor  for  me,'  in  which,  too,  she  would  be 
perfectly  right  were  matters  as  she  probably  believes ; 
that  is,  if  I  were  indeed  her  rival.  I  shall  make  another 
attempt,  however." 

For  this  there  was  no  opportunity.  Priscilla  came 
daily  at  the  appointed  hour,  but  was  immediately  con 
ducted  to  Mr.  Lawrence's  room,  whence,  when  dismiss 
ed,  she  left  the  house  as  noiselessly  as  she  came.  And 
when,  in  the  course  of  a  week,  he  was  so  far  better  that 


A  PEEP  AT  THE   PAST.  281 

he  received  her  in  the  parlor,  it  was  evidently  expected 
that  Eleanor  should  withdraw ;  for,  though  his  displeas 
ure  was  now  only  manifested  by  a  punctilious  politeness, 
it  was  not  abated. 

Pained  by  this  seclusion,  and  the  strange  position  as 
signed  her,  still  Eleanor  could  not  but  admit  the  happy 
effect  of  the  present  arrangement  on  her  grandfather. 
Whether  that  he  had  a  secret  satisfaction  in  the  infliction 
of  condign  punishment  on  her,  or  the  tranquilizing  ways 
of  the  little  Quaker — her  gentle  tones,  the  sedative  effect 
of  her  phraseology,  her  good  reading,  her  immovable 
placidity,  which  seemed  to  act  like  oil  on  ruffled  waters — 
or  her  beauty,  which,  he  having  seen  little  of  her  of  late, 
appeared  to  take  him  by  surprise— or  all  together,  could 
not  be  said.  Certain  it  was,  however,  that,  like  "  the  lit 
tle  maid  carried  away  captive  out  of  the  land  of  Israel," 
she  had  brought  healing  to  the  house.  The  gout  disap 
peared,  and  an  unusual  calm  succeeded. 

One  day,  as  Eleanor  had  just  made  her  compulsory 
exit  from  the  parlor,  she  was  me£  by  Philip  in  the  hall, 
who  stealthily  giving  her  a  signal,  she  followed  him  into 
the  drawing-room. 

" Eleanor,"  said  he,  "I  must  speak  to  you!  Do  you 
know  that  Mrs.  Dorothy  says  that  grandpapa  is  quite 
taken  with  Priscilla,  who,  as  she  tells  me,  '  has  bewitch 
ed  the  old  gentleman.'  This  has  put  new  hope  into  me : 
what  if  she  should  so  gain  his  favor  as  to  overcome  his 
objections?" 

"Well,  but,  my  good  cousin,"  replied  Eleanor,  mis 
chievously,  "  how  could  that  help  you  ?  You  say  that 
Priscilla  is  herself  inexorable." 

"  Oh,  she  would  not  be  so — you  know  she  could  not 
— if  every  obstacle  were  removed." 

"But — another  thing,  Philip — how  can  you  be  sure 
that  Priscilla  may  not  play  '  The  Irish  Widow'  in  earn- 


282 

est,  and,  finding  she  has  captivated  the  grandfather,  sac 
rifice  the  grandson  ?" 

"Why — why — you  don't — what  do  you  mean,  Ele 
anor?"  exclaimed  he,  gasping  with  alarm  and  astonish 
ment  ;  "  what  can  you  mean  ?" 

u  Only  just  what  I  say :  I,  of  course,  am  ignorant  of 
all  such  things ;  but  mamma,  who  knows  the  world,  oft 
en  declares  that  no  marriage  would  ever  surprise  her — 
that  the  wisest  and  the  silliest,  the  oldest  and  the  young 
est,  are  equally  unreliable  in  this  matter." 

"  Well,  but,  Eleanor,  you  distress  me ;  don't  talk  so ; 
'tis  absurd:  do  be  serious." 

"I  am  serious,  and,  moreover,  quite  reasonable.  Pris- 
cilla  has  rejected  you.  She  is,  therefore,  as  you  must 
admit,  perfectly  at  liberty.  Grandpapa  is  a  handsome, 
hale  old  gentleman,  and,  when  he  chooses,  can  be  cap 
tivating.  More  than  this,  she  considers  you  engaged  to 
me,  which,  of  course,  you  ought  to  be,  if  people  ever  did 
in  matrimony  what  they  ought  to  do.  It  is  not  my 
place  to  undeceive  hor,  and  you  can  not,  because  she 
has  sent  you  to  Coventry.  Now,  before  we  can  all 
stand  in  our  proper  places,  grandpapa,  who  thinks  that 
every  thing,  like  murder,  *  if  it  were  done,  it  is  well  it 
were  done  quickly,'  will  have  the  banns  published,  and 
you  and  I  will  be  invited  to  walk  as  *  chief  mourners.' " 

"  If  I  thought  such  a  thing  possible,"  exclaimed  Phil 
ip,  "  I  would— 

"  Fall  down  and  worship  me !  I  suppose,"  interrupted 
Eleanor,  with  mock  gravity ;  "  but  I  warn  you,  my  god- 
desship  would  be  immovable." 

"!Nb,  no!"  replied  he,  passionately;  "I  would  tear 
her  from  my  heart,  and  never  more  have  faith  in  wom 
an  !  But  I  won't  think  of  it.  'Tis  an  absurdity  1  You 
don't  believe  it ;  you  can  not." 

"I  believe  nothing,  because  I  have  nothing  on  which 


A  PEEP  AT  THE  PAST.  283 

to  found  belief.  You  ought  to  know  how  far  you  can 
trust  her.  But  no,  dear  Philip,  do  not  look  so  distress 
ed;  I  am  only  taking  my  revenge  on  you  and  grand 
papa.  Priscilla's  face  can  not  deceive.  She  may  be 
firm  even  to  obstinacy,  but  never  mercenary  or  heart 
less." 

Philip,  though  rejecting  what  his  better  sense  assured 
him  did  not  deserve  a  thought,  could  not  be  quite  easy 
under  these  suggestions,  even  when  retracted.  He  re 
flected  on  all  the  extraordinary  marriages  of  which  he 
had  ever  heard,  till  he  almost  persuaded  himself  that 
this  one  was  possible.  His  situation,  tantalizing  before 
— daily  under  the  same  roof  with  Priscilla,  yet  not  dar 
ing  to  speak  to  her — became  now  intolerable,  and  he  re 
solved,  at  all  hazards,  to  see  her. 

Accordingly,  the  next  morning,  when,  having  per 
formed  her  usual  duty,  she  was  on  her  return,  and  pro 
ceeding  through  the  wood  which  separated  her  from  her 
home,  she  heard  steps  behind,  and  feared  that  she  was 
followed.  She  would  not  betray  it,  however,  even  by  a 
look,  but  pursued  her  way,  as  if  unconscious.  They 
gained  on  her — they  were  at  her  side — still,  she  neither 
turned  her  head  nor  raised  her  eyes. 

In  the  days  of  their  childhood,  Philip  had  playfully 
imitated  her  mode  of  speech.  Affection  had  adopted 
what  sport  began. 

"Priscilla!"  at  length,  he  said,  in  a  hesitating  voice; 
"  Priscilla !  may  I  not  speak  to  thee !" 

She  was  silent,  and  again  he  entreated. 

Without  slackening  her  pace  or  raising  her  eyes,  she 
at  length  replied,  "  I  have  neither  might  nor  right  to 
prevent  thy  speaking ;  but  let  it  be  what  befits  thee  to 
say,  and  me  to  hear." 

"  Oh,  Priscilla !  thou  knowest  that  there  is  but  one 
thing  I  can  say — forgive  me!  Be  again  to  me  what 


284  WALTER  THOBNLEY;  OB, 

thou  hast  so  long  been  I  Thou,  whom  only  I  have  loved, 
or  can  ever  love!" 

She  stopped  suddenly,  and,  turning  toward  him  a  face 
pale  but  unmoved,  said  deliberately  and  coldly,  "  Thy 
grandfather  is  pleased  to  require  at  my  hand  certain 
small  services,  the  which  I  gladly  render ;  but  I  will  not 
again  cross  his  threshold  unless  thou  leave  me." 

u  Say,  then,  only  that  thou  dost  not  hate  me;  nay,  hate 
me,  if  thou  wilt :  any  thing  but  this  deadly  coldness." 

"  I  may  not  vex  myself  at  thy  bidding,"  she  replied. 

"Priscilla,  I  can  not  bear  this.  Accuse  me!  scorn 
me !  any  thing  that  shows  human  feeling !" 

But  no  word  was  returned ;  she  only  walked  faster, 
as  if  anxious  to  escape  him. 

Stung  by  her  manner  past  endurance,  and,  for  the 
moment,  yielding  to  the  suspicions  that  had  been  in 
fused  into  him,  he  placed  himself  in  her  path,  and  ex 
claimed,  with  violence,  "  It  is  so !  I  understand  you  at 
last ;  do  not  think  to  blind  me ;  I  am  sacrificed,  not  to 
a  just  resentment,  but  to  your  ambition !  Poor  and  de 
pendent  as  I  am,  you  do  well  to  cast  me  off  for  one 
who,  if  more  than  three  times  your  age,  can  make  you 
mistress  of  Eosenberg  1" 

The  words  were  hardly  uttered  before  they  were  re 
pented.  The  lightning  that  shot  from  those  dark  eyes 
brought  quick  conviction  of  her  indignant  innocence, 
and  of  his  own  folly. 

"  I  thank  thee,  Philip  Lawrence,"  she  said ;  "  thou  hast 
done  me  thy  last  and  best  favor ;  thou  hast  extinguished 
the  small  spark  of  kindness  that  yet  warmed  my  heart 
toward  thee." 

Humbled  and  alarmed,  he  implored  her  pardon,  and 
attempted  to  take  her  hand ;  but,  disengaging  it,  she  ex 
claimed,  "Let  me  pass!  thy  path  and  mine  here  part  for 
ever  !  Let  me  pass." 


A   PEEP   AT  THE   PAST.  285 

"Oh,  Priscilla!  canst  thou  leave  me  thus,  without  a 
word,  or  hope  of  forgiveness  ?  I  am  wretched !  Pity, 
if  thou  wilt  not  love  me.  Tell  me  what  I  can  do  to 
show  thee  my  repentance." 

A  slight  tremor  of  her  voice  betrayed  the  effect  of 
this  appeal,  but  her  manner  was  unchanged. 

"  All  that  I  ask  at  thy  hands  is  that  thou  hinder  me 
not  in  my  duty  to  thy  grandfather." 

Philip  no  longer  ventured  to  oppose  her.  Retreating 
from  before  her,  he  permitted  her  to  proceed,  while  he 
turned  homeward  with  a  heavy  heart. 

Meanwhile,  Priscilla,  having  got  beyond  sight  and 
sound,  seated  herself  under  a  tree,  not  to  rest,  but  to 
weep  unseen.  Here  she  gave  way  to  a  gush  of  feeling, 
the  more  violent  because  long  suppressed.  Tears,  and 
even  groans,  attested  her  sorrow.  Suddenly  she  check 
ed  herself. 

"  Foolish  and  wicked  that  I  am,"  thought  she ;  "  why 
am  I  thus  disquieted  ?  Surely  no  new  trial  has  come 
upon  me.  What  if  he,  indeed,  love  me  still;  what 
though  report  of  him  and  his  cousin  be  untrue ;  what 
if  I  forgive  all  that  is  past  ?  it  mattereth  not — my  duty 
remaineth.  It  can  not  be  shunned  but  by  returning 
evil  for  good.  *  Thy  friend  and  thy  father's  friend  for 
get  not.'  Then  how  may  I,  in  return  for  all  the  kind 
ness  rendered  to  me  and  mine,  steal  away  the  hope  of 
their  house  ?  No,  I  will  not  do  it,  even  though  my  heart 
should  burst.  'Tis  well  that  I  turn  on  him  a  cold  coun 
tenance,  even  that  he  thinketh  me  unfeeling  and  cruel. 
Be  it  so." 

Then,  adjusting  her  cap  and  hat — in  her  agitation, 
nearly  fallen  off — smoothing  her  hair,  and  wiping  away 
the  traces  of  her  tears,  she  rose,  and,  slowly  proceeding, 
was  so  far  tranquilized,  on  reaching  home,  as  to  escape 
question  or  observation. 


286  WALTEK  TI1ORNLEY;    OK, 


JHAPTER  XXyil. 

ELEANOR'S  sympathy  for  Philip  had  reconciled  her  to 
what  she  believed  could  only  be  a  temporary  loss  of  fa 
vor  ;  but,  when  she  found  she  was  thereby  restricted  in 
her  kindly  efforts  for  others,  it  was  harder  to  bear.  Of 
this  she  soon  had  an  instance. 

Pomp  had  been  sent  to  the  village  on  the  opposite 
side  of  the  river,  charged  with  various  household  er 
rands,  but,  above  all,  to  call  for  a  pair  of  knee-buckles 
which  Mr.  Lawrence  had  sent  to  be  repaired.  He  re 
turned  just  at  nightfall,  but  his  memory  had  proved 
treacherous,  and  his  master's  errand  had  been  forgotten. 

Finding  Eleanor  alone  in  the  parlor,  he  confided  to 
her  his  trouble,  and  begged  her  to  "speak  a  good  word 
for  him  to  massa."  She  had  just  given  the  promise  of 
her  best  services  when  her  grandfather  entered,  and  the 
luckless  omission  had  to  be  confessed. 

Pomp's  fears  had  not  exaggerated  the  probable  conse 
quences.  Not  that  Mr.  Lawrence  cared  more  for  his 
knee-buckles  than  an  old  gentleman  should  be  allowed 
to  do ;  but,  various  similar  offenses  on  the  part  of  Pomp 
having  of  late  occurred,  and  punishment  having  been 
threatened,  it  was  hardly  to  be  expected  that  he  should 
now  escape. 

"Go  instantly  back  and  get  them!"  was  the  penalty 
denounced. 

At  this  moment  it  was  no  small  one.  The  wind  had 
risen  as  the  night  came  on,  and  the  darkness,  deepening 
at  every  moment,  was  becoming  fearful.  Courage  was 
no  virtue  of  Pomp's ;  add  to  which,  his  mother's  frequent 
injunctions  to  avoid  the  fate  of  his  father,  who  had  been 


A  PEEP  AT  THE   PAST.  287 

drowned,  had  impressed  on  him  a  superstitious  dread  of 
the  water. 

"Massa,"  said  he,  with  a  quaver  in  his  voice,  "de 
white  caps  is  risin'  drefful  fast.  "Won't  massa  please  let 
me  go  ober  in  de  mornin'  ?" 

Mr.  Lawrence  had  no  sympathy  with  cowardice  in 
any  form,  and  a  peremptory  negative  cut  short  the  en 
treaty.  Pomp  ventured  only  an  imploring  glance  at 
Eleanor,  which,  being  observed  by  his  master,  she  saw 
only  aggravated  the  matter.  Still  her  promise  was  not 
to  be  broken ;  and,  though  hoping  little  from  her  inter 
ference,  she  commenced  with  "Dear  grandpapa,  do — " 
when  another  command,  issued  with  even  more  violence, 
like  an  explosion,  blew  poor  Pomp  out  of  the  room. 

A  lull  in  the  wind  for  a  short  time  furnished  an 
excuse  for  the  harsh  mandate;  but,  as  the  night  ad 
vanced,  it  again  rose,  justifying  all  Pomp's  fears  and 
the  prognostics  of  the  kitchen.  To  the  gale  was  add 
ed  Egyptian  darkness.  Eleanor,  too  anxious  to  sleep, 
remained  up,  looking  from  every  window  in  hope  of 
some  abatement  of  the  storm.  At  length,  recollecting 
the  probable  terrors  of  Pomp's  mother,  she  went  to  the 
kitchen,  in  the  wish  to  afford  her  such  comfort  as  could 
be  suggested.  She  found  that  her  aunt  had  anticipated 
her.  The  other  servants  had  gone  to  bed,  but  poor 
Minty,  in  her  desperate  grief,  had  thrown  herself  before 
the  hearth,  and  was  venting  her  feelings  in  tears  and 
moans.  Miss  Lawrence  bent  over  her,  trying  to  dispel 
the  fears  to  which,  like  a  child,  she  gave  way. 

"Yelly's  bery  good,  missis,"  at  length  she  sobbed 
forth,  "but  jess  so  Tom  went,  missis;  jess  so!  and  I 
neber  seed  his  face  agin  I  I  allus  t'ought  Pomp  would 
be  drowned,  'case  he  jess  like  his  fader !  Oh,  missis ! 
missis !  and  only  jess  for  dose  drefful  knee-buckles ! 
Oh, massa!  massa!  I  wouldn't  sarve  vou  so!"  and  a  sad 


288  WALTER  THORNLEY;  OR, 

wail  accompanied  these  few  reproachful  words,  which 
her  mother's  heart  could  not  repress. 

Miss  Lawrence  would  not  reprove  what  she  could  not, 
in  truth,  condemn.  At  length,  with  some  difficulty,  in 
ducing  her  to  take  a  composing  draught  into  which  she 
had  insinuated  an  opiate,  she  and  Eleanor  got  her  to  bed, 
and  remained  with  her  till  it  had  soothed  her  to  silence 
and  sleep. 

In  returning  to  her  own  room  Eleanor  perceived  the 
drawing-room  door  ajar,  and  a  light  within.  This  being 
unusual  at  so  late  an  hour,  she  gently  pressed  it  open, 
and  saw  her  grandfather  standing  by  the  front  window, 
evidently  endeavoring  to  peer  into  the  darkness  of  the 
wild  night,  which  was  now  terrific.  Going  from  window 
to  window,  apparently  in  a  vain  hope  to  see  what  was 
not  to  be  seen,  he  then  turned  round  and  walked,  in  an 
anxious,  troubled  manner,  about  the  room,  looked  at  his 
watch,  and  said  to  himself,  "  One  o'clock !  where  can  the 
boy  be!" — then  again  went  to  the  window. 

Unwilling  to  leave  him  alone  in  this  uneasy  mood, 
Eleanor  entered,  and,  without  an  offer  to  bear  him  com 
pany,  which  would  of  course  be  rejected,  seated  herself 
by  a  table  and  took  up  a  book  that  lay  on  it.  But  Mr. 
Lawrence  did  not  choose  to  be  observed,  and,  turning 
on  her  abruptly,  he  said,  sharply,  "What  are  you  up 
for?  The  wind  disturbed  me;  but  young  folks  should 
not  mind  such  trifles.  Go  to  bed,  child ;  go  to  bed." 

"  I  can  not  sleep,"  said  Eleanor;  "  and  if  you  will  let 
me  stay  with  you,  sir,  I  shall  not  care  for  the  storm." 

"No,  no;  nonsense!  it  is  no  storm.  You  city  people 
call  every  whistle  of  the  wind  a  storm.  Always  fright 
ened  to  death  about  your  chimneys  and  your  roofs.  My 
old  gables  have  stood  many  a  worse  blast  than  this.  If 
you  will  build  high,  your  pride  may  have  a  fall.  We 
are  safe  enough  here.  Go  to  bed,  go  to  bed." 


A  PEEP  AT  THE   PAST.  289 

His  manner  admitted  of  no  appeal  or  hesitation,  and 
she  unwillingly  obeyed. 

"Poor  grandpapa!"  she  thought,  "he  is  paying  the 
price  of  his  proud  will!" 

In  the  mean  time  Pomp,  having  executed  his  master's 
command,  returned  to  the  ferry,  near  which  a  rough 
shanty  afforded  a  shelter  to  the  ferryman,  whose  lantern 
was  the  only  light  visible. 

Pomp  entered  with  fear  and  trembling. 

"So,  you've  come  at  last,"  said  the  gruff  voice  of  Hans 
Van  Slyke,  stretching  and  yawning,  and  well  disposed 
to  sport  with  the  terrors  of  his  companion.  "We  may 
as  well  be  off  at  once,  for  we  have  but  narrow  quarters 
here.  Davy's  locker,  if  ever  so  wet  and  cold,  will  be 
wider,  at  any  rate ;  and  the  white  caps  will  be  soft  pil 
lows,  eh,  Pomp!" 

"  Lors  a  marcy,  Massa  Hans,  don't  talk  dat  ar  way ! 
Telly's  not  afear'd?" 

"  Afear'd !  who  dares  say  that?  But  I  never  crossed 
in  such  weather  a'fore,  I  can  tell  you.  I  say,  Pomp,  you 
did'nt  think,  did  you,  when  you  was  a  catching  fish  yes 
terday,  that  they'd  grab  you  to-night,  eh?" 

"  Oh,  don't !  don't !  Massa  Hans !" 

"Why,  Pomp,"  continued  the  immovable  Hans,  hold 
ing  his  lantern  to  his  face,  "you're  as  white  as  I  am. 
When  they  hook  you  up  to-morrow  they'll  think  they've 
fished  a  gentleman,  and  they'll  give  you  a  grand  funeral. 
But  come,  let's  be  off,"  and,  gathering  himself  up,  he 
prepared  to  face  the  night,  Pomp  following  with  falter 
ing  steps.  Opening  the  door,  he  looked  and  listened ; 
shook  his  head,  and  enlarged  on  the  darkness  and  dan 
ger,  but  manfully  issued  forth;  when,  having  played  out 
his  game,  he  turned  suddenly  round,  saying,  "  Pomp,  if 
you're  such  a  cursed  fool  as  to  go,  I  am  not ;  I  shall  not 
budge  to-night" 

N 


290  WALTER  THORNLEY;  OR, 

This  was  music  to  the  ears  to  which  it  was  addressed, 
but  Pomp  had  now  his  own  game  to  play. 

"  Not  go,  Massa  Yan  Slyke !  not  go  1  Is  dis  de  way 
you  sarve  de  public  ?  I'se  agwine  on  bizens.  I  don't 
'quire  wedder  danger  here,  or  danger  dere ;  I  make  no 
comparishments,  but  go  whar  I  sent." 

"You  do,  do  you?  But  I  ain't  a  nigger.  I'm  not 
going  to  risk  my  life  for  no  man.  Here  I  stay,"  putting 
down  his  lantern,  closing  the  door,  and  shaking  up  a 
straw  pallet  for  himself. 

Pomp's  courage  growing  as  the  call  for  it  became  less, 
he  straightened  himself  with  a  characteristic  pomposity. 

"Massa  Yan  Slyke,"  said  he,  "I  'spec  you  know  de 
law.  If  a  man's  'structed  in  his  lawful  bizens,  ob  course 
dere's  damage  to  pay.  Now  who's  'structed  here  ?  Not 
you,  but  me.  Who's  to  pay  den  ?  Ob  course  not  me, 
but  you." 

"  Your  lawful  business,"  said  Hans,  scornfully ;  "  I'd 
like  to  know  what  great  matter  you  are  trusted  with  ?" 

"  And  I'd  hab  you  know,  Massa  Hans,  dat  I'se  not 
gwine  to  blab.  I  knows  when  to  speak  and  when  to 
hold  my  tongue.  And  dis  yer's  a  ting  berry  near  to 
massa,"  with  a  chuckle  at  his  own  wit,  "berry  near; 
moss  a  part  of  hisself.  I'se  not  gwine  to  'quire  wedder 
you  tink  it  of  'portance  or  not — /  know — and  I  tell  you 
once  for  all  dat  you  take  de  whole  'sponsability  ob  my 
stayin'  here." 

"  Shut  up,  you  black  rascal !"  exclaimed  the  regard 
less  Hans,  "and  let  me  go  to  sleep,  will  you!" 

"And  whar  am  I  to  sleep?"  asked  Pomp,  with  the 
feeling  of  a  misused  official.  "  Is  dis  de  only  place  you 
perwide  for  a  gen'elman  stopped  on  his  lawful  bizens?" 

"  If  it's  good  enough  for  me,  it's  good  enough  for  you ; 
so  hold  your  gab,  I  say." 

This  curt  reply  appeared  final.     Pomp  nestled  into 


A  PEEP  AT  THE  PAST.  291 

the  straw  with  entire  satisfaction ;  slept  profoundly  in 
spite  of  roaring  winds  and  dashing  waters,  and,  with  the 
early  dawn,  his  cheery  whistle  was  heard  at  Rosenberg, 
as  he  wound  round  the  house,  to  the  comfort  of  those 
who  were  fearing  never  to  hear  it  again. 

At  breakfast,  standing  behind  his  master's  chair,  he 
was  permitted  to  relate  his  experience.  The  horrors  and 
dangers  of  the  night,  of  course,  were  not  slighted,  nor  his 
own  courage  in  being  ready  to  brave  them.  Mr.  Law 
rence,  as  might  be  expected,  ridiculed  all;  but,  when 
Pomp  gave  his  statement  of  the  case  as  put  to  Hans,  he 
said,  putting  some  money  in  his  hand,  "  Spoken  like  a 
lawyer,  Pomp,  and  there's  your  fee,"  better  pleased,  per 
haps,  than  any  one,  that  no  calamity  had  happened. 


292  WALTER  THORNLEY;  OR, 


CHAPTER  XXVIII. 

A  REALLY  poetic  May  had  come  and  nearly  gone. 
The  fresh  grass,  the  trees  in  their  young,  feathery  foliage, 
the  flowers — the  first-born  of  the  year — the  "charm  of 
earliest  birds,"  the  soft  and  fragrant  air,  the  mountains 
in  their  cerulean  blue,  and  their  white,  fleecy  draperies, 
the  warm  sky,  flecked  with  the  light  clouds  which  the 
yet  moist  earth  sent  up  as  incense,  "  nature  all  bloom 
ing  and  beneficent,"  combined  to  cheer  Eleanor,  and  to 
charm  away  the  little  vexations  that  of  late  had  crossed 
her.  She  was,  indeed,  made  to 

"  Count  her  hours 
By  the  opening  buds  and  closing  flowers." 

But  there  was  one  thought  she  could  not  always  ex 
clude,  to  which  the  season  and  its  associations  gave  re 
newed  strength  and  freshness,  proving  that  her  earnest 
efforts  to  conquer  it  had  not  been  effectual.  Eleanor, 

"  A  child, 
Smitten  amid  its  playthings;" 

one  who 

"Knew  not  life, 

Save  as  the  sportive  breath  of  happiness, 
Now  felt  her  minutes  teeming  as  they  rose 
With  grave  experiences." 

She  had,  with  a  wisdom  suddenly  and  painfully  ac 
quired,  or,  rather,  a  natural  good  sense  and  courage  un 
expectedly  called  forth,  seen  and  determined,  however 
hard,  to  do  her  duty.  In  this  she  had  been  aided  by  a 
removal  to  new  scenes  and  new  interests,  where  the  gen 
tle  influence  of  her  aunt  had  enforced  her  purpose,  and 
the  happiness  she  conferred  had  been  reflected  on  her- 


A   PEEP  AT  THE   PAST.  293 

self.  Without  any  nice  mental  analysis,  she  had  found 
that  "  the  best  and  only  way  of  abstracting  the  mind 
from  one  object  was  to  fix  it  on  another ;"  and,  in  yield 
ing  herself  amiably  to  those  around  her,  had  discovered 
the  best  restorative.  The  first  disturbing  force  had  been 
the  unjust  displeasure  of  her  grandfather.  It  had  turn 
ed  the  current  of  her  thoughts,  which  she  had  sedulous 
ly  directed  to  others,  back  upon  herself,  not  only  by 
rendering  her  less  happy,  but  by  suggesting  comparisons 
with  the  standard  which  she  had  adopted.  Severity,  in 
justice,  weakness,  only  rendered  more  conspicuous  mild 
ness,  truth,  and  strength,  embodied  in  one  she  could  not 
forget,  yet  might  not  love. 

The  day  had  been  unusually  warm  for  the  season — 
even  sultry;  and,  after  the  early  tea,  to  drive  away 
thought,  she  snatched  up  her  hat  and  shawl,  and  stroll 
ed  off  to  her  favorite  retreat.  This  was  at  some  distance 
from  the  house,  and  was  gained  by  a  path  through  a 
wood  so  thick  that  a  stranger,  in  following  it,  unexpect 
edly  would  find  himself  standing  on  a  little  rocky  prom 
ontory,  so  shaded  and  secluded  that  no  habitation  was 
visible,  and  no  sound  heard  but  the  rush  of  the  mill- 
stream  that  on  one  side  hurried  to  the  river,  and  the  al 
ternating  tides  that  murmured  at  his  feet.  A  fantastic 
tree  afforded  seat  and  shade ;  and  here,  with  an  agreea 
ble  book,  a  pleasanter  nook  could  scarcely  have  been 
found. 

But  now,  instead  of  sitting  or  reading,  Eleanor  leaned 
on  a  projection  of  the  rock  that  rose  like  a  battlement 
before  her,  and,  bending  over  it,  thought  of  home,  fa 
ther,  mother,  and — Walter ;  of  her  dear  study ;  of  the 
lessons  first  disliked  and  then  loved;  of  absence  — 
return — avowal — separation.  All,  all  came  back  with 
the  greater  power  because  so  long  repressed,  and  tears, 
unbidden  and  unthought  of,  fell  on  the  hand  which  sup- 


294  WALTEE  THORNLEY;    OR, 

ported  her  cheek.  She  saw  nothing — not  river,  nor 
mountain,  nor  setting  sun ;  nor  a  sloop,  whose  idle  sails 
were  flapping  in  the  lazy  air;  nor  yet  another,  which, 
at  low  tide,  was  stranded  on  a  bar  near  the  opposite 
shore.  No,  nor  a  little  boat,  which,  having  put  off  from 
its  side,  had,  after  a  few  moments,  changed  its  oblique 
course,  and  was  steering  toward  the  spot  she  occupied. 
Neither  did  she  see  that  a  spy -glass,  handed  from  one  to 
another,  was  directed  to  herself;  nor,  until  the  boat's 
prow  disturbed  the  monotonous  murmur  on  the  beach, 
was  she  roused  to  see  that  a  young  man,  returning  the 
glass  to  some  one  near  him,  had  leaped  ashore,  at  the 
same  moment  answering  the  question,  u  At  what  hour, 
sir?"  by  another — 

"  When  does  the  tide  serve?" 

"  At  nine  o'clock." 

"  Very  well ;  you'll  find  me  here." 

That  voice  awoke  an  echo  in  her  heart.  Starting  from 
her  reverie,  she  saw,  struggling  up  the  rock,  and  in  a 
few  seconds  by  her  side,  with  glowing,  animated  face 
and  extended  hand,  the  very  spirit  of  her  waking 
dream. 

"  Mr.  Thornley !"  she  exclaimed. 

"  Eleanor  I"  he  replied,  excited  out  of  his  habitual  cau 
tious  address.  Their  hands  met;  their  "mutual  eyes" 
were  eloquent,  but  their  words  were  few.  Their  last 
sad  parting  was  present  to  them. 

"  Do  not  stand,"  said  Walter,  first  recovering  himself. 
"  Eest  here,  where  the  Dryads  seem  to  have  prepared  a 
seat  for  you" — leading  her  to  the  old  tree,  whose  dis 
torted  trunk  afforded  a  resting-place — "  and  I  will  find  a 
fitting  one  here,"  throwing  himself  on  the  grass  at  her 
feet. 

Eleanor,  in  a  bewilderment  of  joy  and  surprise,  could 
say  nothing.  She  passively  complied  with  his  sugges- 


A  PEEP  AT  THE   PAST.  295 

tion,  while  lie  sat  gazing  into  her  face,  to  which  the  year 
since  they  had  parted  had  added  both  strength  and 
beauty.  The  freedom,  the  pure  air,  the  healthful  exer 
cise,  the  early  hours  of  her  quiet,  inartificial  country 
life,  had  increased  her  bloom,  and  matured  her  figure  to 
its  full  and  perfect  proportions.  She  had  ceased  to  be 
a  child  without  losing  a  single  grace  of  childhood.  She 
had  grown  into  the  dignity  of  a  woman  without  any  con 
sciousness  of  greater  importance. 

"Now,  tell  me,"  said  she,  at  length,  "where  have  you 
come  from?  the  earth  beneath,  or  the  sky  above?  for  I 
have  not  the  faintest  idea." 

"  My  progress  has  been  neither  subterranean  nor  ethe 
real — entirely  prosaic,  and  like  that  of  other  mortals. 
But,  in  order  to  be  understood,  I  must  enter  into  particu 
lars.  You,  perhaps,  remember  my  legal  aspirations,  and 
the  facilities  afforded  by  your  father.  Well,  I  have 
obeyed  the  impulse  thus  encouraged,  and  am  in  the  out 
er  court  of  the  temple  I  so  much  desire  to  enter — a  law 
yer's  clerk ;  with  so  much  of  his  confidence  that  I  am 
now  absent  on  his  business.  Is  not  that  well  ?" 

"  That  sounds  well,  at  least,"  said  Eleanor,  returning 
his  smile,  "but  do  you  like  it?  Now,  for  once,  descend 
to  my  level,  and  admit  that  a  thing  may  be  very  wise, 
and  yet  very  disagreeable.  Those  dry  books,  those  in 
terminable  papers,  are  they  not  horridly  tiresome?" 

"  Tiresome !  have  a  care  lest  I  send  you  back  to  the 
study,  and,  putting  on  my  schoolmaster's  frown,  tell  you, 
in  the  words  of  your  old  friend  Plutarch,  that  '  Law  is 
the  king  of  mortals  and  immortals — of  nature,  man, 
angels,  and  even  the  highest  intelligences!'  that  'law 
is—' " 

"  Oh,  no  more !  I'll  believe  all,  any  thing ;  only  speak 
yourself,  and  let  Plutarch  be  silent." 

"Well,  then,  having  awed  you  into  a  proper  state  of 


296 

mind,  I  will  admit  that,  as  yet,  I  do  not  find  it  very  ex 
citing  ;  nevertheless,  it  is  occupation  for  the  present,  hope 
for  the  future.  Hope !  hope !"  added  he,  with  animation, 
"that  mysterious  essence  of  life!  about  which  physiolo 
gists  dispute.  But  to  explain  why  I  am  here.  My  bus 
iness  took  me  to  Albany;  where,  having  failed  to  obtain 
the  desired  information,  I  am  now  seeking  it  in  New  York. 
We  grounded  on  the  Overslaugh,  and  again  here  on  the 
opposite  bar.  A  boat  was  to  be  sent  ashore  for  a  fresh 
supply  of  milk  and  bread;  and,  to  beguile  the  time,  I 
jumped  in.  Your  little  promontory  caught  my  eye, 
with  a  figure  like  Hope  resting  on  her  anchor,  and,  with 
eyes  directed  to  the  distant  main,  inviting  the  wandering 
sailor  home.  An  instinct  that  could  not  fail  told  me  it 
was  you.  I  seized  a  glass  to  assure  myself,  and  found  I 
was  not  deceived.  Now  tell  me,  in  return,  of  yourself. 
Where  are  you?  and  why?  and  how  does  that  busy 
young  mind  occupy  itself?" 

Eleanor  gave  a  brief  sketch  of  her  visit.  She  longed 
to  tell  every  thing,  but  she  reflected  that  Philip's  inter 
ests,  and  her  grandfather's  infirmities  might  not  be  re 
vealed  to  a  stranger.  On  her  aunt  she  could  fearlessly 
dilate ;  and  the  more  earnestly  from  the  pleasure  with 
which  Walter  listened,  as  he  perceived  how  much  so 
lovely  a  character  had  touched  her. 

"And  society?"  he  asked;  "are  there  no  Oscars  to 
bewitch  ?  no  hearts  to  bless  or — to  break  ?" 

"Oh  dear,  no!  The  only  one  I  might  have  been 
tempted  to  experiment  upon  is  pre-engaged,  so  I  have 
had  no  opportunity  of  losing  my  own,  nor  of  winning 
another's." 

To  this  succeeded  inquiries  as  to  reading,  study,  and 
so  on — all  put  very  properly,  and  answered  categorically, 
but  with  that  "double  consciousness" — when  the  lips 
speak  of  what  the  heart  is  not  thinking — which  those 
will  readily  understand  who  have  been  similarly  affected. 


A  PEEP  AT  THE  PAST.  297 

And  now,  as  Walter  reclines  at  her  feet,  with  eyes  up 
raised,  that  seem  to  say 

"  How  like  a  winter  hath  my  absence  been 
From  thee !" 

it  is  well  if  every  resolution  be  not  forgotten.  It  is  well 
if  she  do  not 

"Bead  what  silent  love  hath  writ." 

Beware,  Walter!  You  have  been  wise,  you  have  been 
strong.  But  you  have  now,  in  a  fond  self-reliance,  ven 
tured  into  temptation.  Ah !  you  are  beginning  to  know 
it  yourself.  Your  heart  nearly  bursts  the  restraints 
you  have  imposed  on  it,  as  you  read  in  those  sweet 
eyes  innocently  bent  down  on  you,  in  those  kind 
smiles,  whose  light  shines  into  your  very  soul,  the 
answer  you  might  find !  But  no,  you  are  still  master 
of  yourself. 

How  long  he  would  have  remained  so  is  not  to  be  told. 
Ah !  how  often  is  human  wisdom  the  result  of  some 
beneficent  arrangement  for  us ;  or  some  lucky  accident, 
as  we  falsely  and  unbelievingly  term  it ! 

At  this  moment  a  rumble  of  distant  thunder  recalled 
them  from  the  inner  to  the  outer  world ;  and  they  per 
ceived,  for  the  first  time,  that,  while  they  had  been  sport 
ing  in  rainbows,  the  night  had  gathered  blackness. 
Heavy  clouds  were  rolling  toward  them ;  the  sultry  air 
was  stirred  by  a  wind,  the  forerunner  of  a  gust;  lightnings 
flashed  along  the  horizon,  attended  at  shorter  intervals 
by  thunder  nearer  and  louder,  and  every  thing  indicated 
an  approaching  storm. 

Eleanor  started  from  her  seat,  wrapping  her  shawl 
around  her,  and  Walter,  alarmed  at  so  slight  a  protec 
tion,  entreated  her  to  lose  no  time  in  returning. 

"  And  you  ?"  said  she ;  "  what  is  to  shelter  you  ?" 

"Oh,  this  thick  wood  would  be  sufficient,  so  well 
used  as  I  am  to  such  exposures ;  but  I  shall  go  with  you, 

N2 


298  WALTER  THORNLEY;  OK, 

and  shall  still  be  in  time  to  keep  my  appointment  with 
the  boat." 

There  was  no  time  for  farther  parley,  and  they  turned 
homeward. 

Luckily,  though  threatening  every  instant,  the  rain 
did  not  actually  fall;  but  the  darkness  increased  fear 
fully,  and  the  lightning,  more  and  more  vivid  and  fre 
quent,  was  their  only  guide.  The  long,  deep  wood, 
through  which  they  must  pass  by  merely  a  narrow  foot 
path,  often  obstructed  by  fallen  brushwood,  and  which, 
in  the  cheerful  day,  was  only  wild  and  romantic,  now  be 
came  intense  in  gloom,  and  almost  a  place  of  danger. 
At  every  moment  Eleanor  feared  to  strike  her  head 
against  a  tree,  or  to  be  prostrated  by  some  unseen  ob 
stacle.  Walter's  anxiety  for  her  gave  importance  to 
what,  if  alone,  he  would  have  disregarded.  In  moment 
ary  expectation  of  a  pelting  rain,  he  would,  had  the  path 
permitted,  with  merely  an  arm  around  her,  have  borne 
her  along  scarce  aided  by  herself;  but  this  was  here  im 
possible. 

While  thus  groping  their  way,  Walter  preceding  and 
leading  her  by  the  hand,  they  both,  at  the  same  time,  ex 
claimed,  "  What  is  that  ?  Hark !  Who  is  there  ?" 

They  stopped  and  listened. 

"  'Tis  nothing,"  said  Walter ;  "  nothing  but  the  rustle 
of  the  leaves  under  our  feet." 

"Do  you  think  so?  It  sounded  exactly  like  a  foot 
step.  There !  There  it  is  again !" 

"  'Tis  only  the  echo  of  our  own.  Do  not  be  alarmed ; 
there  can  be  no  cause ;  for,  even  if  it  be  a  footstep,  'tis 
only  some  unlucky  wanderer  like  ourselves.  Do  not 
think  of  it.  Haste,  haste,  Eleanor !  I  feel  the  rain  this 
moment." 

But,  though  Walter  endeavored  to  divert  her  appre 
hensions,  he  often  looked  round  into  the  darkness,  which 


A   PEEP   AT  THE   PAST.  299 

his  eye  could  not  penetrate,  and  only  spoke  to  urge  her 
onward. 

At  length  they  emerged  from  the  wood,  and  crossed 
an  open  space,  under  a  dim  light,  by  which  an  object 
might  have  been  discerned.  It  was,  however,  only  to 
enter  another  scarce  less  impervious,  through  which  an 
avenue  led  to  the  house.  Here,  proceeding  with  less 
difficulty,  and  with  a  feeling  of  security,  Eleanor  revert 
ed  to  the  sounds  that  had  disturbed  her. 

"Why,"  she  asked,  "should  no  answer  be  returned? 
One  would  think  that,  at  such  a  time,  mere  companion 
ship  would  be  a  motive  to  speak*" 

"Kecollect,  Eleanor,  it  is  only  your  assumption  that 
there  was  a  person.  In  such  a  confusion  of  sounds,  one 
is  easily  mistaken.  But  think  no  more  of  it.  Have  we 
yet  far  to  go?" 

"  No,  not  far ;  that  is,  measuring  distance  by  my  steps, 
for  I  see  nothing.  Ah !  there's  a  light !  Yes,  we  are 
approaching  the  house  at  the  front.  The  parlor  windows 
are  behind ;  we  can  not  see  them  here.  Now  you  must 
leave  me." 

"  Leave  you !  here,  unsheltered,  alone !     Never." 

"  Nay,  I  know  best,"  said  Eleanor,  fearful  of  the  ef 
fect  of  his  entrance  on  her  grandfather.  "  I  am  within 
a  few  paces  of  the  house ;  there  is  nothing  to  fear  for 
me." 

"But  let  me  see  you  within  the  door  at  least." 

"  I  can  not,  I  must  not :  let  me  judge." 

Constrained  by  her  earnestness — as  no  real  danger 
could  be  apprehended — he  yielded;  but  said,  with  an 
emotion  that,  fortunately  for  both,  could  not  be  per 
ceived,  "  You  drive  me  from  you,  Eleanor,  and  I  go. 
What  else,  indeed,  can  I  do?"  Then,  with  an  attempt 
at  cheerfulness,  he  added,  "  But,  in  like  manner  as  we 
have  now  met,  we  may  meet  again.  To  insure  this,  were 


300  WALTER  THORNLEY;  OR, 

I  a  heathen,  I  would  erect  an  altar  to  the  goddess  of  the 
'  Unforeseen !'  "  and  raising  to  his  lips  the  hand  he  still 
held,  "Farewell,  Eleanor  I"  he  said,  and  was  gone,  while 
her  half-uttered  parting  words  were  unheard. 

Approaching,  as  she  supposed,  the  front  door,  which, 
however,  she  did  not  wish  to  enter,  she  passed  farther 
on ;  but  the  rain,  so  long  threatened,  now  came  with  a 
violence  that,  added  to  the  darkness,  perplexed  her. 
She  turned  a  corner,  where  a  gust  met  and  nearly  pros 
trated  her ;  and,  struggling  with  it,  she  became  bewil 
dered  as  to  the  direction  she  was  taking.  Dimly  dis 
cerning  the  mass  of  building,  and  seeking  a  private  en 
trance  somewhere,  in  order  to  avoid  embarrassing  ques 
tions,  she  was  pressing  on,  uncertain  if  right  or  wrong, 
when  the  sounds  that  had  lately  disturbed  her  fell  on 
her  ear  again,  and  so  close  as  to  startle  her.  At  the 
same  instant  a  flash  of  lightning,  broad  and  vivid,  re 
vealed  a  dark  figure  within  a  few  feet  of  her.  It  was 
tall,  but  so  wrapped  that  only  a  general  outline  was 
seen,  relieved  against  a  glass  window,  from  which  was 
reflected  a  strong  light.  The  next  moment  all  was  total 
darkness. 

"The  dood-Jcamer /"  she  exclaimed,  "what  fate  has 
brought  me  here?"  and,  her  imagination  excited  by  the 
vague  terrors  she  associated  with  that  part  of  the  house, 
and,  in  an  agony  of  fear,  attempting  to  escape  the  phan 
tom  at  her  side,  she  darted  forward,  her  foot  slipped,  she 
fell,  and  her  senses  fled. 

She  was  roused,  by  a  wailing  voice  and  a  lantern 
flashing  in  her  face,  to  find  her  faithful  Phyllis,  who 
had  been  in  quest  of  her,  bending  over  her.  The  vio 
lence  of  the  rain  had  ceased ;  but,  thoroughly  wetted 
and  chilled,  she  readily  comprehended  the  necessity 
urged  by  Phyllis,  of  getting  into  the  house  as  soon 
as  possible.  Covering  her  mistress  with  the  cloak  she 


A   PEEP   AT  THE   PAST.  301 

had  provided,  and  supporting  her  trembling  limbs  with 
an  arm  strongly  clasped  around  her,  she  guided  her, 
as  Eleanor  requested,  to  the  steps  leading  to  the  af- 
dak,  by  which,  through  the  portaal,  she  might  gain  her 
own  room  unobserved.  Having  reached  it,  and  guard 
ing  against  any  alarm,  by  directing  that  her  aunt  should 
be  merely  told  that  she  had  come  home  tired,  and  re 
quested  not  to  be  disturbed,  she  resigned  herself  to 
the  care  of  Phyllis,  who  laid  her,  like  an  unresisting 
child,  on  her  bed.  The  energies  and  affections  of  the 
little  maid  were  all  alive.  She  flew  out  of  the  room, 
was  back  again  like  a  flash ;  held  a  glass  of  wine  to  her 
lips,  which  Eleanor  could  not  refuse;  felt  her  feet  — 
found  them  cold ;  rushed  out,  and  in  again  with  a  bottle 
of  hot  water  for  them ;  tucked  every  thing  about  her, 
and  then  seated  herself  in  a  corner  to  be  ready  if  any 
thing  more  were  wanted. 

The  next  morning,  however,  the  fact  could  not  be 
concealed.  A  restless  night,  during  which  Phyllis  had 
never  left  her,  was  succeeded  by  all  the  indications  of  a 
violent  cold,  confining  her  not  only  to  her  room  but  to 
the  bed.  Her  aunt  attended  her  with  anxious  affection. 
But  Mr.  Lawrence,  though  putting  aside  his  air  of  offend 
ed  majesty,  and  unable  to  disguise  his  interest,  would 
not  admit  that  she  was  ill.  "  It  was  a  bad  cold — noth 
ing  more ;  she  would  be  well  directly."  At  the  request 
of  Miss  Lawrence  the  doctor  came:  "Saw  no  danger  at 
present;  but,  if  fever  and  delirium  should  supervene, 
couldn't  say,"  only  shook  his  head  ominously.  These 
suggestions  enraged  Mr.  Lawrence,  who,  resolved  she 
should  not  be  ill,  was  only  more  persistent  in  his  first 
opinion ;  would  not  allow  her  parents  to  be  sent  for ; 
would  not  permit  her  aunt  to  remain  with  her  at  night, 
but  commanded  More  to  do  so. 

Thus  passed  two  days  and  nights.    As  was  feared,  de- 


302  WALTER  THORNLEY;  OR, 

lirium  and  fever  did  appear,  but  Mr.  Lawence  changed 
not.  The  third  morning  a  bulletin  announced  to  him 
a  better  night,  no  fever,  soft  skin,  cough  abated,  head 
clear.  "  I  fold  you  so !"  said  he,  triumphantly,  and  his 
imperious  will  found  still  another  confirmation. 

As  her  indisposition  yielded,  Eleanor's  mind  recurred 
to  the  circumstances  immediately  preceding.  "  That  si 
lent  figure !  seen  so  distinctly,  though  but  for  a  moment. 
That  strange  light  on  the  window  of  that  fearful  cham 
ber  !  Was  it  indeed  a  reflection  from  without  ?  Did  it 
not  come  from  ivithin?  And,  if  so,  what  might  it  not 
portend?  Why  had  she  been  led  to  that  place  she  so 
sedulously  shunned?  Why  had  she  fallen  near  its  fa 
tal  door,  to  which  that  dark  phantom  appeared  to  con 
duct  her  ?  Might  not  some  fatality  impending  over  her 
involve  Walter  also  ?" 

Again  and  again  she  asked  these  questions,  and  as 
often  her  reason  suggested  plausible,  but  not  satisfactory 
explanations.  "A  man-servant  might  have  been  re 
turning  home — he  would  be  silent,  of  course ;  why  not  ? 
A  reflection  of  the  lightning  from  the  glass  was  an  easy 
solution  of  the  strange  light !  Why,  in  the  dark,  might 
she  not  miss  her  way  ?  and,  being  terrified  and  faint, 
why  should  she  not  fall?" 

Let  not  poor  Eleanor  be  condemned  for  superstitious 
terrors  in  her  time  not  uncommon;  especially  not  by 
those  of  the  nineteenth  century,  of  whom  some  believe 
— nothing,  and  others — every  thing. 

Eleanor  was  passing  the  twilight-hour  alone  with  these 
reflections,  to  which  was  now  added  the  question  of 
"How  would  grandpapa  receive  her  when  she  should 
rejoin  the  family  ?"  when  Aunt  More  asked  permission 
to  enter. 

"All  alone,  missis  ?"  said  she ;  "  in  de  dark  too !  Well, 
I  drefful  grad  yelly's  gwine  down  sta'rs  to-morrow.  I 


A  PEEP  AT  THE   PAST.  303 

neber  'pruve  sick  folks  stay  by  deresels.  And  now, 
missis,  may  I  speak  jess  one  word?" 

Flore  had  been  so  devoted  to  her,  that  Eleanor  was 
pleased  to  have  a  favor  to  grant  her. 

"  Well  den,  missis,  sarbents  hab'n't  no  bizens  to  'quire 
'bout  dere  massas  and  misseses ;  but  den  brack  folks  has 
eyes,  and  so  dey  muss  see.  Now  I  see,  misses,  dat  derc 
is  somet'ing  wrong  'twixt  yelly  and  ole  massa,  and  I  jess 
want  to  say,  dat  yelly  neber  mind  dat.  Don't  missis  be 
frettin'  'case  of  dat  ar' ;  its  only  jess  outside.  /  know," 
she  said,  with  a  look  of  intelligence  which  engaged  the 
earnest  attention  of  Eleanor,  "/  know,"  she  repeated; 
"dem  ar  nights  when,  massa  wouldn't  let  Miss  Gitty 
stay  here  he  neber  went  to  bed  hisself,  but  was  up  and 
down  here  all  de  night  long,  feelin'  yelly's  hands  and 
head,  and  walkin'  'bout  de  house  sighin'  and  groanin' 
like  as  he  was  out  of  hisself." 

"Dear  grandpapa!"  softly  said  Eleanor,  "then  he  does 
love  me,  after  all." 

"  And  den,  ebery  little  while  he  would  say — but  he 
would  moss  a-killed  anybody  else  for  sayin'  it — '  Flore, 
bery  sick  chile !  eh,  Flore,  don't  you  t'ink  so  ?  Flore, 
you've  seed  a  great  deal  of  sickness,  what  do  you  t'ink 
now?'  'Love'  yelly !  dat  he  do,  missis ;  but  massa  very 
queer  massa — dat  ar  de  trute — always  de  wuss  to  dem 
he  loves  best.  Jess  so  in  my  ole  missis'  time — ready  to 
die  for  her,  but  neber  gib  up  his  own  way  for  her ;  and 
Miss  Gitty,  too;  oh,  de  trouble  in  this  yere  drefful  ole 
house  in  dose  days!  Now  you  mussn't  be  mad  'case 
what  I  says,"  added  Flore,  in  a  deprecating  tone. 

"  Oh  no,  indeed,  Flore ;  I  know  you  mean  it  all 
well." 

"  So  I  does,  missis.  I  seed  dere  was  trouble  on  yer 
mind  when  I  was  watchin'  dose  nights,  'case  you  talked 
'bout  ebery  t'ing." 


304  WALTER  THORNLEY;  OR, 

"Every  thing!"  repeated  Eleanor,  alarmed;  "what 
did  I  say,  AuntFlore?" 

"  Oh,  netting  partic'lar,  'cept  ole  massa,  and  de  dood- 
kamer,  and  'nudder  name  I  couldn't  make  out ;  so  I  'tar- 
mined  to  speak.  And  now,  missis,  when  you  go  down 
sta'rs,  neber  mind  if  massa  look  big  an  gran' ;  dat  ar  his 
way  wheneber  he  mad ;  but  jess  you  smile,  like  ole  mis 
sis.  Oh,  yelly  is  de  pictur  ob  her!  So  massa  said 
toder  night.  'Flore,'  says  he,  'ezacly  like  her  grand- 
moder !'  and  den  up  and  down  t'rou  de  room  agin.  Oh, 
Lorry,  what  a  night  it  was !  Den  massa  come  stan'  by 
me  when  I  counted  de  drops  for  yelly.  *  Are  you  sartin, 
Flore  ?'  he  say.  '  Take  care,  my  chile !'  Yes,  missis,  he 
loves  you  better  dan  any  t'ing  'cept  Miss  Gitty.  Massa 
treat  her  ezacly  so,  only  wuss." 

In  Eleanor's  present  nervous  condition  these  assur 
ances  were  neither  unwelcome  nor  useless. 


A   PEEP  AT  THE   PAST.  805 


CHAPTER  XXIX. 

Miss  LAWRENCE  had  perceived  in  Eleanor  a  nutter 
of  spirits,  an  unequal  manner,  an  occasional  anxiety  and 
abstraction,  so  unlike  herself  as  to  excite,  not  only  ob 
servation,  but  solicitude.  It  was,  therefore,  with  as  much 
pleasure  as  surprise  that,  as  they  sat  together  in  the  par 
lor  the  day  after  Eleanor's  return  to  it,  she  saw  her,  on 
Pomp's  ushering  in  a  gentleman,  dart  forward  to  meet 
him,  exclaiming,  with  much  animation,  "  Captain  Tal- 
bot !  how  glad  I  am  to  see  you." 

The  sentiment  was  more  than  responded  to ;  so  much 
so  that  Eleanor  was  not  sorry  to  check  his  almost  rap 
turous  delight  by  an  introduction  to  her  aunt,  of  whose 
presence  he  had  seemed  unconscious. 

The  captain  was  not  a  man  to  let  his  feelings  run 
away  with  him ;  but  Eleanor's  excitement  at  seeing  him, 
her  improved  beauty,  and  her  more-confirmed  manner, 
bringing  with  it  the  hope  of  a  better  capacity  to  esti 
mate  himself,  threw  him  off  his  guard.  Soon  recover 
ing,  however,  with  his  usual  presence  of  mind,  he  ad 
dressed  himself  to  Miss  Lawrence.  Of  course,  there  were 
many  inquiries  on  the  part  of  Eleanor  to  answer.  Hav 
ing  satisfied  these,  he  next  ventured  to  hope  that  she 
might  care  to  hear  something  of  himself;  and  proceeded 
to  say  that  "  he  had  only  lately  arrived  from  England ; 
that  he  was  now  on  a  visit  to  their  neighbor,  Mr.  Johnson ; 
and,  finding  that  he  was  near  Rosenberg,  he  had  taken 
the  liberty  to  call  on  his  young  friend,  Miss  Eleanor,  and 
also  to  inquire  after  the  health  of  Mr.  Lawrence,  of  whom 
he  had  heard  so  much  as  to  inspire  him  with  a  profound 
respect." 


306  WALTER  THORNLEY  ;    OR, 

Mr.  Lawrence,  being  informed  of  the  attention  design 
ed  for  him,  made  his  appearance.  The  captain  was  gra 
ciously  received ;  and,  having  produced  an  agreeable  im 
pression,  took  his  leave,  with  an  invitation  to  dinner  the 
following  day. 

Even  before  the  appointed  hour,  though  an  early  one, 
Captain  Talbot  rode  up  the  avenue.  Philip  had  just  re 
turned  from  a  morning  in  the  woods,  and,  having  sent 
Pomp  in  with  his  sporting  equipments,  and  his  game- 
bag  to  Aunt  Minty,  he  loitered  near  the  entrance  to  see 
who  this  stranger  might  be.  The  captain  alighted  from 
his  horse ;  and,  deceived  by  the  "  questionable  shape"  in 
which  Master  Philip  appeared,  disguised  in  his  careless 
sportsman's  dress,  threw  the  bridle  toward  him,  saying, 
"He  is  warm — see  him  well  cared  for,"  walked,  with  a 
superior  air,  into  the  house.  Though  willing  to  believe 
it  a  mistake,  Phil  was  piqued;  and,  after  making  his 
toilet  with  more  than  usual  attention,  descended  to  the 
drawing-room,  fully  intending  to  overwhelm  their  un- 
discriminating  guest  with  deserved  confusion. 

Meanwhile  the  captain  was  invited  to  the  guest-cham 
ber  to  relieve  himself  of  the  effects  of  a  dusty  ride.  Ele 
anor,  not  aware  of  his  arrival,  left  her  room  in  order  to 
be  ready  to  receive  him  when  he  should  come ;  but,  in 
passing  through  the  upper  entry,  she  caught  a  glimpse 
of  a  gentleman  in  the  "  picture  hall,"  as  it  was  called — 
into  which  the  room  allotted  to  visitors  opened.  This 
hall  was  cut  off  from  the  entry  by  a  glass  door,  now 
ajar,  through  which  she  could  see  and  hear,  herself  be 
ing  screened  by  a  projection  of  the  wall. 

"Captain  Talbot!"  thought  she  "here  so  soon!  and, 
as  I  live,  standing  before  the  forbidden  picture,  unveil 
ed  !  He  alone  has  dared  to  expose  it !" 

She  drew  a  little  nearer— the  desire  to  see  the  face  so 
long  denied  was  irresistible — nearer  still.  "  Yes ;  now 


A  PEEP  AT  THE   PAST.  307 

I  see  it !  It  is  not  at  all  like  Cousin  Phil,  though,"  con 
tinued  she,  disappointed.  "  Can  it  indeed  be  his  father  ? 
What  an  intellectual  forehead!  Eyes  full  of  thought 
and  feeling!  What  sweetness  in  the  mouth!  'Tis  a 
shame  to  hide  such  a  face ! — hist,  the  captain  is  speak- 
ing!" 

"  'Tis  very  strange,"  said  he,  unaware  of  any  one  near 
him,  "  very  strange !"  as,  varying  his  position,  looking 
now  in  front,  "now  obliquely,  now  closer,  then  farther  off, 
he  tried  to  catch  the  face  under  different  aspects.  "  If 
not  the  man,  certainly  a  marvelous  resemblance !  but,  if 
he  in  fact,  how  should  it  be  here?  Stranger  still  this 
fantastic  device  to  conceal  it.  And  why  ?" 

At  this  moment  a*  door  opened,  and  Momma  Zip 
crossed  the  hall.  He  beckoned  to  her  and  addressed  a 
few  words  to  her,  which  not  understanding,  she  remain 
ed  silent.  Inferring  from  this  that  if  there  were  a  secret 
it  was  to  be  obtained  only  in  one  way,  he  put  a  piece 
of  money  into  her  hand.  Dropping  a  courtesy,  she  re 
ceived  it  apparently  with  proper  gratitude,  but  was  still 
silent ;  upon  which,  concluding  her  to  be  dull  of  appre 
hension,  he  enforced  his  inquiry  by  signs,  and,  pointing 
to  the  picture,  said,  with  emphasis,  "  Who  is  that — that, 
I  say?  Speak!" 

Zip  shook  her  head,  but  not  to  express  ignorance. 
On  the  contrary,  taking  the  money  from  her  pocket,  she 
placed  it  on  a  table  near  which  they  were  standing  with 
a  force  that  gave  the  effect  of  rejection ;  and  walked  off 
with  an  air  that  said,  "I  know,  but  I  am  not  to  be 
bribed." 

The  captain,  for  a  moment,  was  confounded.  The  key 
which  he  had  found  a  passe-partout  had  failed.  There 
were  in  the  heart  of  a  poor  old  negress  wards  that  it 
would  not  fit. 

"Why!  what  an  African  Princess!"  he  exclaimed. 


308  WALTER  THORNLEY;    OR, 

But  this  only  increased  the  wonder.  "It  must  be  ex 
plained." 

Eleanor,  having  the  clue,  was  amused,  and  still  more 
charmed,  with  Momma's  fidelity.  Hurrying  away,  lest 
she  might  encounter  him,  she  entered  the  drawing-room, 
where  Master  Philip,  in  full-blown  dress  and  offended 
dignity,  awaited  the  moment  when  he  should  enjoy  the 
captain's  embarrassment.  This,  however,  was  not  to  be. 
The  captain  did  not  perceive  his  mistake ;  or,  rather,  was 
too  much  a  man  of  the  world  to  give  it  importance  by 
referring  to  it. 

The  dinner  passed  off  well.  Though  not  loving  the 
English  any  too  much,  Mr.  Lawrence  understood  the 
duties  of  a  host ;  besides  which  tlie  captain  was  full  of 
information  on  all  subjects,  and  it  was  a  rare  chance  to 
catch  such  a  visitor  in  the  country. 

Eecommending  himself  by  social  anecdote  and  amus 
ing  details  of  city  life,  he  contrived,  notwithstanding 
that  the  gentle  gravity  of  Miss  Lawrence  occasionally 
rebuked  a  caustic  sally,  the  wit  of  which  did  not  to  her 
atone  for  the  insinuation  it  conveyed,  to  make  himself 
acceptable  to  the  ladies.  Master  Philip,  though  rather 
in  a  bad  humor,  was  considerably  mollified.  As  to  Ele 
anor,  she  was  actually  gay ;  and  the  captain,  who  could 
not  understand  that  it  was  a  nervous  reaction — the  nat 
ural  consequence  of  the  depressing  influences  under 
which  she  had  recently  suffered — saw  it  only  as  the 
effect  of  his  presence,  and  a  daring  hope  again  possess 
ed  him. 

In  the  evening  other  visitors  joined  them.  Whist 
was  introduced ;  and  here  the  captain,  as  in  every  thing, 
was  au  fait;  and  Mr.  Lawrence,  animated  by  finding 
a  competitor  worthy  of  his  "best  play,"  acquiesced 
reluctantly,  when  he  politely  resigned  his  seat  to  an 
other.  Having  done  so,  he  joined  Philip  in  a  corner,  at 


A   PEEP   AT  THE   PAST.  309 

a  distance  from  others ;  and  Eleanor  heard  him,  in  a  gen 
tle  under- voice,  refer  to  the  mystery  of  the  picture,  and 
inquire  the  name  of  the  original ;  to  which  Phil  replied, 
coldly, 

"  'Tis  a  family  matter,  sir,  of  which  we  do  not  speak." 

"  I  beg  pardon,"  said  the  unabashed  captain ;  "I  ought 
to  have  understood  as  much,  from  the  very  circumstance 
that  provoked  my  inquiry.  Excuse  me."  And  he  took 
a  seat  by  the  side  of  Eleanor.  In  a  little  time,  letting 
fall,  rather  abruptly,  the  thread  of  conversation  he  had 
been  pursuing,  he  said,  in  a  low,  confidential  tone,  "Have 
you  a  haunted  chamber  in  this  house  ?" 

Eleanor  turned  pale.  All  her  terrors  of  a  certain 
room,  all  her  late  strange  sick  fancies  returned,  and  she 
faltered  out,  "  ISTo !  no !  "What — how  came  you  to  think 
of  such  a  thing?" 

His  penetrating  eye  rested  on  her  face  an  instant. 
He  then  carelessly  added,  "  Because  one  mystery  is  apt 
to  suggest  others.  Who  is  the  original  of  that  veiled 
picture  ?  Was  he  not  a  hero  of  some  romance  of  real 
life,  in  true  novel  style  treacherously  murdered?  and 
does  not  his  spirit  walk  this  labyrinthine  dwelling?" 

"Oh,  horrible  1"  exclaimed  Eleanor,  with  a  shudder, 
as  she  thought  of  the  tragical  fate  of  her  uncle. 

"But  tell  me,  who  was  he?" 

Surprised,  and  rather  amused  at  his  persistency,  she 
replied,  "I  thought  that  ladies  only  were  accused  of  cu 
riosity." 

"  Oh  no!  I  confess  I  am  as  curious  as  a  woman ;  be 
sides,  'tis  a  traveler's  privilege  to  ask  questions.  Why 
else  should  he  travel  at  all?  Well;  and  his  name 


was — " 


Eleanor  put  her  finger  to  her  lip. 

"Do  you  know?" 

The  same  sign  repeated. 


310 

"  Will  you  answer,  if  I  guess  ?" 

She  shook  her  head. 

"  One  of  the  family?" 

The  finger  to  the  lip  again. 

"  What  a  nice  little  Trappiste  you  would  make  I" 

"  And  what  a  poor  inquisitor  would  you  be  1"  said 
she,  laughing. 

"  I  am  merciful ;  I  have  not  yet  applied  the  torture." 

"  The  torture !" 

"Ay;  I  could  do  so,"  said  he,  with  a  look  quite  in 
comprehensible.  Then,  as  if  to  remove  the  impression 
he  had  made,  "  Don't  you  deserve  to  be  tortured ;  you, 
who  inflict  torture  on  others  ?" 

"What  a  strange  man!"  she  thought.  "He  abso 
lutely  frightens  me  sometimes." 

The  whist-players  having  finished  their  rubber,  music 
was  called  for.  Eleanor,  glad  to  escape,  rose  to  obey ; 
and,  seating  herself  at  the  spinet,  summoned  Cousin  Phil 
to  her  assistance.  They  sang  together  with  much  ap 
proval — the  captain's  eye  more  intent  than  his  ear — and 
were  leaving  the  instrument,  when  Eleanor  stopped,  re 
sumed  the  seat,  and,  looking  up  into  Philip's  face  with 
a  mischievous  expression,  sang,  from  the  "  Gentle  Shep 
herd," 

"The  lass  of  Patie's  Mill, 

So  bonny,  blithe,  and  gay, 
Hath  won  my  right  good  will, 
Hath  stawn  my  heart  away !" 

The  looks  of  intelligence  exchanged  by  herself  and 
Philip,  and  the  consciousness  of  the  latter,  showed  an  un 
derstanding  not  agreeable  to  the  captain.  But  supper 
was  announced,  and  song  and  sentiment  ceased. 

The  next  day  brought  the  captain  again,  who,  assidu 
ous  to  please  Mr.  Lawrence,  by  a  ready  instinct  adapted 
himself  to  his  tastes — admired  the  country,  Eosenberg 


A  PEEP  AT  THE  PAST.  311 

especially — even  the  quaint  architecture  of  the  old  Dutch 
house,  rural  life,  and  manners;  wondered  not  that  he 
had  abjured  the  city,  etc. 

Presently,  Pomp  entered,  to  say  that  "Hans  Van 
Slyke  come  to  speak  to  massa." 

Hans  was  admitted.  The  amount  of  his  communica 
tion  was  that  "  He  had  seen  two  men  slyly  ascending 
the  hill,  in  the  direction  of  the  garden ;  that,  on  his  hal 
looing  to  them,  they  had  fled,  and  he  had  lost  sight  of 
them;  but  that,  soon  after,  a  boat  had  pushed  off,  and 
that  they  must  have  returned  in  it  to  a  sloop  lying  just 
off '  the  point ;'  that,  as  she  might  be  there  some  hours, 
he  thought  Mr.  Lawrence  ought  to  know." 

Now  Mr.  Lawrence's  fruit  was  almost  as  dear  to  him 
as  his  honor.  Indeed,  it  might  be  said  to  make  part  of 
it,  inasmuch  as  it  was  his  pride  to  produce  the  finest  in 
the  county.  In  consequence  of  its  exposed  situation, 
and  within  only  a  low  stone  fence  that  a  boy  could  leap, 
he  *had  often  suffered  from  such  river  marauders.  He 
had  set  on  his  dogs,  and  had  talked  loudly  of  doing 
worse;  but,  as  no  one  believed  he  would  ever  enforce 
his  threats,  they  became  a  dead  letter,  much  to  the  com 
fort  of  Miss  Lawrence,  on  whose  disinclination  to  strong 
measures — though  not,  in  fact,  greater  than  his  own — 
he  always  threw  the  blame.  "  A  little  gunpowder,"  he 
said,  "  would  soon  settle  it ;"  but  Gitty  wouldn't  hear 
of  it,  and  so  he  must  submit,  as  he  always  did. 

"The  rascals!"  he  exclaimed,  as  Hans  concluded; 
"they  were  after  my  'early  Annes.'-  Here,  Pomp,  do 
you  be  on  the  watch,  and  if  you  see  any  thing  more  of 
them  call  out  the  dogs." 

And  here  the  matter  would  probably  have  rested  but 
for  an  observation  of  the  captain. 

"  Ah !  my  dear  sir,"  said  he,  "  we  manage  this  business 
better.  Brick  walls,  spring  guns,  and  man-traps  are  the 


312  WALTER  THORNLEY;  OK, 

only  protection.  But,"  with  a  shrug,  "free  people,  free 
game,  and  free  fruit,  of  course." 

Rather  nettled  by  the  superior  air  with  which  this 
was  said,  Mr.  Lawrence  was  about  to  reply,  when  Hans, 
enraged  against  the  supposed  thieves,  whom,  like  a  true 
Dutchman,  he  pronounced  to  be  "Yankees,"  and  en 
couraged  by  the  remark  of  the  captain,  went  on  to  say 
that  "  They  got  worse  and  worser.  That  it  was  not 
much  over  a  week  since  a  boat  set  a  man  ashore,  just 
under  the  hill,  and  left  him  to  get  the  fruit  against  they 
came  back — that  they  did  so,  late  in  the  evening — that 
he  heard  their  voices  and  their  oars," 

"My  May  Dukes!"  exclaimed  Mr.  Lawrence,  "the 
scoundrels  were  after  them,  too,  and  have  broken  my 
trees  besides."  Thoroughly  roused,  first  by  the  implied 
want  of  law  and  order  in  the  new  republic — 0  tempora^ 
0  mores,  what  might  be  said  now !  —  and  then  by  vis 
ions  of  mangled  cherry-trees,  he  called  on  his  henchman) 
Pomp. 

"  Has  any  mischief  been  done  to  the  trees?" 

"  No,  massa,  b'liebe  not.  Dere  was  a  boat  com'd  here 
t'oder  night  from  a  skipper  out  in  the  riber,  jess  as  Hans 
say.  It  com'd  afore  dark,  and  den  agin  when  de  tide 
was  up.  But  lors,  massa !  dat  ar  was  de  night  storm'd 
so;  so  dark  neber  couldn't  pick  nottin'.  Same  night 
young  missis  was  cotch'd  out.  Young  missis" — turning 
to  Eleanor — "'members  dat  ar,  and  pYaps  she  seed  de 
boat  too." 

This  personal  application  did  not  diminish  the  uncom 
fortable  consciousness  under  which  Eleanor  had  been 
growing  hot  and  cold  ever  since  the  discussion  began. 
She  did  not  accuse  herself  for  an  accidental  meeting  with 
"Walter,  but  the  circumstances,  she  was  aware,  might  ex 
cite  suspicions  undeserved  both  by  him  and  herself.  In 
extremity  one  thinks  rapidly.  This  was  no  time  to  de- 


A  PEEP  AT  THE   PAST.  318 

cide  if  she  had  acted  wisely  or  not.  She  was,  at  least, 
confident  of  her  right  intention,  and  she  must  abide  by 
what  she  had  done.  If  concealment  at  first  were  proper, 
it  was  certainly  still  more  so  in  the  presence  of  Captain 
Talbot.  "With  her  usual  directness,  therefore,  she  stated 
the  sirnple  fact  for  which  she  was  referred  to — the  com 
ing  of  a  boat ;  and,  amused  in  spite  of  her  secret  disqui 
etude  at  the  design  imputed  to  Walter,  she  added,  with 
a  smile,  "  I  rather  think,  however,  grandpapa,  that  your 
May  Dukes  are  safe."  But  he  was  not  now  in  a  mood 
to  be  easily  satisfied. 

"Safe!"  he  exclaimed,  angrily.  "Yes,  till  the  next 
sloop  stops  within  reach  of  them.  There  is  but  one 
way,"  continued  he,  with  a  look  at  poor  Miss  Gertrude 
as  reproachful  as  if  she  were  an  accomplice;  "but  one 
way ;"  and  down  came  the  cane  in  confirmation.  "  Pomp, 
tell  master  Philip  to  leave  a  loaded  gun — a  loaded  gun, 
you  understand — in  the  af-dak.  I'll  see  if  I  can't,  for 
once  in  my  life,  do  as  I  please :"  another  look  at  Miss 
Lawrence.  "But,  Pomp,  do  you  hear?  don't  you  dare, 
you  puppy,  to  meddle  with  it.  If  you  must  be  shot,  I'll 
do  it  myself  properly.  I'll  have  none  of  your  blunder 
ing  work." 

"Yes,  massa,"  replied  Pomp,  with  a  grin ;  and  vanish 
ed,  greatly  magnified  in  his  own  eyes  by  a  commission 
of  such  importance. 

"Massa  gib  it  to  'em!"  exclaimed  he,  as  he  started  off 
on  a  skip  and  a  jump.  "Neber  nobody  like  ole  massa 
yet.  Hip!  ho!  hi!  fire  away!  bang!  and  down  dey 
comes.  Hey,  massa,  gi'  me  you  yet!" 

0 


314  WALTER  THORNLEY;  OR, 


CHAPTER  XXX. 

CAPTAIN  TALBOT,  availing  himself  of  a  general  invita 
tion,  was  now  a  daily  visitor.  Mr.  Johnson  lived  with 
in  walking  distance ;  and,  either  on  foot  or  on  horseback, 
morning  or  evening,  he  was  sure  to  make  his  appear 
ance.  For  a  time  this  passed  smoothly.  Miss  Lawrence 
was  amused,  her  father  entertained,  and  Eleanor  more 
excited  and  interested  than  by  any  thing  else — a  fact 
which  her  aunt  innocently  revealed  by  greeting  him  on 
one  occasion  with  the  welcome  words,  "  I  am  glad  you've 
come,  Captain  Talbot.  You  will  put  Eleanor  in  spirits, 
I  hope.  She  has  been  so  dull  to-day !  No  one  but  you 
can  animate  her." 

Even  Philip  had  given  in  his  adhesion :  but  the  lik 
ing,  somehow,  did  not  ripen  into  cordiality ;  so  far  from 
it  that  Miss  Lawrence,  though  polite  as  ever,  grew  tired 
of  being  always  amused ;  Mr.  Lawrence  became  suspi 
cious  of  the  captain's  views ;  and  Master  Philip  resent 
ed  the  eagle  glance  that  seemed  to  watch  every  whisper 
or  look  that  might  chance,  between  him  and  his  cousin. 
She  alone  remained  as  usual,  and  this  was  enough  for 
the  captain.  His  manner  to  her — always  that  of  a  kind 
friend,  interested  in  her  health,  her  pursuits,  her  improve 
ment — with  whom  she  had  a  larger  range  of  subjects  than 
with  Cousin  Phil,  and  who,  consequently,  could  better 
withdraw  her  from  unpleasant  thoughts  when  such  would 
intrude — rendered  him  always  acceptable.  This  he  saw, 
and,  knowing  well  how  to  turn  such  an  intercourse  to 
his  advantage,  was  not  to  be  deterred  by  any  obstacle. 

Mr.  Lawrence,  whatever  might  be  his  personal  or  na 
tional  aversions,  was  as  yet  sufficiently  self-controlled  not 


A  PEEP  AT  THE   PAST,  315 

to  betray  them  in  his  own  house;  and  he  continued 
to  receive  Captain  Talbot,  if  not  with  the  same  pleas 
ure,  yet  with  a  ceremonious  politeness  that  left  him 
nothing  to  complain  of.  There  was  no  interruption, 
therefore,  of  his  daily  calls,  often,  by  design  or  accident, 
protracted  into  the  evening. 

"Bless  me!"  he  exclaimed  one  day,  looking  at  his 
watch,  after  a  long  morning  visit,  "  I  have,  I  fear,  Miss 
Lawrence,  exceeded  even  your  kindness.  It  is  actual 
ly  the  dinner-hour !  Pardon  me ;  it  is  surely  as  little 
my  fault  as  my  misfortune  that  you  are  all  so  charming 
as  to  render  me  oblivious  of  time  and  propriety ;"  and  he 
rose  to  depart ;  but  a  gently -uttered  suggestion  that  he 
would  remain  was  readily  acceded  to. 

The  addition  was  not  agreeable  to  Mr.  Lawrence ;  but 
the  guest  had  eminently  the  power  of  overcoming  all 
barriers  that  coldness  or  dislike  might  interpose.  The 
dinner  over,  while  the  ladies  indulged  with  Cousin  Phil 
in  a  by-talk  of  their  own,  the  captain,  in  his  most  concil 
iating  tone,  addressed  Mr.  Lawrence. 

"  I  do  not  think,  sir,  that  I  have  seen  an  individual  in 
America  that,  were  I  so  disposed,  I  should  be  so  tempt 
ed  to  envy  as  yourself." 

Mr.  Lawrence  turned  on  him  a  look  of  inquiry. 

"After  having  so  nobly  periled  life  and  fortune,  to  live 
to  see  your  reward  in  the  present  success  of  the  cause  on 
which  you  staked  them,  and  to  foresee  the  glorious  des 
tiny  you  have  contributed  to  secure!  How  many  un 
happy  patriots  have  failed  in  similar  attempts !" 

"  I  have  done  no  more  than  my  duty,"  said  Mr.  Law 
rence,  coolly,  "  and  no  more  than  many  others  of  my 
countrymen.  As  to  the  future,  if  the  English  and  French 
will  give  us  fair  play,  we  shall  do  very  well." 

"I  am  not  surprised  that  you  should  entertain  some 
doubts  of  us"  replied  the  captain;  "but  of  your  tried 


316  WALTER  THORNLEY;   OR, 

friends,  the  French,  you  can,  I  should  say,  have  no 
fear." 

"Fear!"  repeated  the  old  gentleman,  emphatically,  "I 
have  not  of  either  country.  It  is  of  their  governments 
I  speak.  Yours  chiefly,  because  its  conduct  is  cold 
blooded  and  systematic.  As  to  the  mushroom  Kevolu- 
tionary  Directory  of  France,  they  have  insulted,  irritated, 
and  inflamed  us;  but  their  day  is  nearly  over.  The 
French  people  I  feel  toward  as  every  American  should ; 
but  I  do  not  desire  to  hear  again  'fa  ird1  and  lLa  Car 
magnole*  sung  in  our  streets,  nor  any  other  glorification 
of  their  infernal  Jacobinism,  drunk  with  blood !  It  de 
ceived  us  once,  but  never  again.  As  to  our  fitness  for 
liberty,  '  glorious  destiny,'  and  all  that,  it  remains  to  be 
proved.  I  and  my  political  friends  are  willing  to  trust 
the  people  as  the  only  way  of  arriving  at  the  fact.  Our 
opponents  are  too  fearful — that  is  their  mistake." 

"I  have  no  doubt  you  are  right,  sir.  'Tis  Montes 
quieu,"  continued  the  captain,  in  a  deferential  tone,  "  is 
it  not,  sir?  who  says  that  'when  the  common  people 
adopt  good  maxims,  they  adhere  to  them  with  more 
steadiness  than  those  we  call  gentlemen.'  " 

Mr.  Lawrence,  who  had  a  great  contempt  for  what  he 
called  "borrowing  other  people's  thoughts  for  want  of 
your  own" — "standing  on  other  men's  legs"  etc. — an 
swered  impatiently,  "  I  don't  know  nor  don't  care  what 
he  says,  but  I  do  know  that,  gentle  or  simple,  though 
we  may  wrangle  over  our  favorite  systems,  yet  we  are 
true  to  our  country ;  and  that  the  charge  of  '  French  in 
fluence,'  and  '  British  gold,'  and  such  stuff,  is  all  d d 

nonsense !  No,  sir !  there  is  not  a  man  in  either  party, 
who  dare  call  his  soul  his  own,  that  the  Directory  or 
King  George  could  buy." 

"  Damns  had  not  then  had  their  day ;"  and,  though  the 
gentle  admonitions  of  his  daughter  and  Mr.  Lawrence's 


A   PEEP  AT  THE   PAST.  317 

own  convictions  somewhat  restrained  his  anathemas, 
there  were  occasions — like  the  present — when  he  could 
in  no  other  way  find  relief,  albeit  the  same  may  not  here 
in  be  reported. 

"I  believe  you,  sir,  I  believe  you,"  replied  the  cap 
tain,  with  an  acquiescent  inclination  of  the  head.  "  Those 
must  take  a  narrow  view  of  the  capacities  of  men,  who 
can  not  see  that  they  require  only  a  favorable  position  to 
realize  all  that  philosophers  have  dreamed  of  human  per 
fectibility." 

"No,  not  'perfectibility' — I  hate  that  slang!  Our 
people  are  no  fools.  They  know  their  own  interests. 
Give  them  a  chance,  and  they'll  work  them  out.  There's 
no  necessity  to  turn  their  heads  with  blarney  about  their 
'perfectibility.'" 

"I  beg  your  pardon,  sir,  if  the  phrase  offend  you.  I 
meant  only  to  express  my  confidence,  as  felt  by  your* 
self,  in  human  progress,  when  the  obstacles  that  now  ob 
struct  it  shall  be  removed." 

These  last  words  caught  Eleanor's  attention,  who  in 
voluntarily  exclaimed,  "Captain  Talbot!  why,  that  is 
entirely  different  from  what  you  used  to  say  to  papa — 
that  'people  were  so  bad!  so  very  bad!  They  could 
never  govern  themselves  !' " 

Mr.  Lawrence  turned  a  hasty  and  inquisitorial  glance 
at  the  captain,  who,  not  at  all  disconcerted  by  this  charge 
of  inconsistency,  replied  with  a  smile,  "  My  dear  Miss 
Eleanor,  we  are  always  learning,  you  know ;  and,  much 
as  I  have  been  in  your  country,  I  am  but  just  beginning 
to  understand  it." 

"  If  your  opinions  are  so  liable  to  change,"  said  Mr. 
Lawrence,  dryly,  "you  will  probably  see  occasion  to  re 
verse  them  again ;"  and,  with  the  air  of  one  who  thought 
them  of  very  little  consequence,  be  they  what  they 
might,  he  rose  and  retreated  to  his  arm-chair,  indisposed 


318  WALTER  THORNLEY;  OR, 

for  farther  conversation.  It  was  the  signal  for  leaving 
the  table.  Eleanor,  at  the  same  moment,  withdrew  to 
her  room,  Master  Philip  had  an  engagement,  and  the 
captain,  declaring  the  day  too  fine  to  stay  in  the  house, 
took  his  hat  and  sauntered  off  to  the  neighboring 
wood. 

"  Gitty,"  said  the  old  gentleman,  after  some  prepara 
tory  impatient  movements — "  Gitty,  does  the  captain 
come  to  see  youf 

"  Me !  Bless  me,  papa !"  replied  she,  coloring,  and  al 
ways  startled  at  such  a  suggestion,  "  what  put  such  an 
idea  into  your  head  ?  No  gentleman  comes  to  see  me, 
papa,  you  know." 

"  I  know  you  won't  let  them  do  so ;  'tis  your  own 
fault  if  they  don't;  you  are  young  enough  and  hand 
some  enough  yet,  if  you'd  believe  it;  but  never  mind 
that.  The  captain  does  not  come  to  see  you,  you  say. 
He  does  not  come  to  see  me,  that's  certain.  He  is  not  in 
love  with  we,  for  all  his  fine  speeches;  no,  nor  with 
Phil.  Then  who  the  devil  does  he  come  to  see?" 

"Why,  really,  papa,  no  one,  in  the  way  you  appear 
to  think.  He  is  an  idle  man  in  the  country,  finds  your 
house  agreeable,  and  therefore  comes." 

"He  won't  find  it  so  much  longer,  I  can  tell  him." 

"But,  papa,  you  know  you  gave  him  a  general  invita 
tion  to  come,  without  ceremony,  whenever  he  pleased." 

"  Yes,  but  I  did  not  tell  him  to  come  morning,  noon, 
and  night.  He  might  as  well  come  and  sleep  with  me. 
Neither  did  I  tell  him  to  fix  those  infernal  eyes  of  his 
on  Eleanor  all  the  time." 

"Eleanor,  papa!" 

"  Yes,  '  Eleanor,  papa !'  Do  you  think,  because  I  am 
old,  I  am  a  fool?  I  can  see  more  with  my  one  eye 
than  you  with  both  of  yours,  handsome  as  they  are." 

"  Well,  but  even  if  he  has  so  absurd  a  purpose,  as 


A  PEEP  AT  THE  PAST.  319 

you  seem  to  think,  you  know,  papa,  he  never  could  ef 
fect  it," 

"  I  don't  know  any  such  thing.  You  women  are  such 
cursed  fools,  if  only  a  man  pretend  to  be  dying  in  love 
with  you !  Besides,  don't  you  see  how  he  has  bejuggled 
her  already  ?  She  is  not,  as  she  used  to  be,  like  a  bird 
in  the  house ;  no — dull  and  moping,  except  when  he  is 
here,  confound  him !  I  tell  you  I  won't  have  it.  I'll 
break  it  up — I  will;"  and  a  tremendous  stamp  of  the 
cane  enforced  the  declaration. 

After  a  few  moments,  during  which  Miss  Lawrence 
revolved  how  to  divert  his  violence,  he  returned  to  the 
charge. 

" Gritty,"  exclaimed,  he,  "I  don't  believe  in  that  man ! 
Who  the  devil  is  he?  Nobody  knows.  He  has  been 
here,  off  and  on,  for  years,  yet  he  has  no  visible  business. 
I  tell  you,  he  is  a  sharper,  a  swindler,  an  escaped  con 
vict,  or  some  blasted  thing  or  another — you'll  see !" 

Miss  Lawrence  interposed  by  the  mention  of  his  good 
standing  with  several  persons  whom  they  knew,  and  es 
pecially  Mr.  and  Mrs.  Meredith. 

"  Oh,  that's  nothing !  Meredith  swallows  any  hook 
baited  with  an  Englishman ;  and  Janet  is,  by  this  time, 
I'll  engage,  only  a  reflection  of  him,  though  she  was  a 
sensible  young  woman  when  she  lived  at  home,  and 
was  allowed  to  have  an  opinion  of  her  own,  poor  thing ! 
As  to  the  other  persons  you  speak  of,  there's  nothing 
easier  than  to  impose  on  people  who  are  always  running 
after  foreigners.  Have  you  forgotten  that  marriage,  pre 
vented  almost  at  the  last  moment?" 

"Marriage  prevented!"  repeated  Miss  Lawrence,  with 
a  strange,  bewildered  look. 

"  Why,  yes,  child ;  what  are  you  thinking  about  ?  I 
did  it  myself.  The  girl,  very  rich,  very  handsome,  was 
crazy  to  marry  a  German  soi-disant  count  or  baron. 


320 

Some  cautious  friend  suggested  better  security  than  his 
word.  After  time  allowed  to  obtain  credentials  from 
home,  they  were  produced,  pronounced  satisfactory,  and 
the  wedding  was  to  take  place  immediately,  when  I  traced 
the  precious  document  to  the  very  scrivener's  in  New 
York  where  the  parchment  was  obtained.  Yes,  actual 
ly  fitted  into  the  sheet  from  which  it  was  cut — every 
identical  notch  and  scallop !  The  marriage  was  broken 
off,  but  the  girl  never  forgave  me  for  saving  her.  Now 
haven't  I  a  right  to  call  you  women  fools  ?" 

Miss  Lawrence  answered  only  by  a  faint  smile,  and, 
glad  to  perceive  that  the  recollections  of  the  past  had  di 
verted  his  anger,  was  careful  not  to  revive  it  by  an  ex 
postulation,  but,  having  adjusted  his  chair,  left  him  to  his 
afternoon's  nap.  This  so  far  refreshed  and  composed 
him  that,  when  the  captain  reappeared  at  tea,  he  was 
able  to  behave  decently. 

A  beautiful  full  moon  withdrew  Eleanor  from  the  par 
lor,  and  then  into  a  little  path  that  wound  its  way  through 
the  shrubbery.  It  was  not  long  before  the  captain  was 
by  her  side,  rather  to  her  regret,  for  she  would  have  pre 
ferred  to  be  alone.  He  saw  it — for  what  did  he  not 
see?  and  he  addressed  her  thought,  though  not  ex 
pressed. 

"My  dear  young  lady,  you  seek  solitude;  and  why? 
because  you  are  out  of  place  here.  Wherefore  then  re- 

•       o  i  > 

mam  t 

"  No,  indeed,  not  out  of  place,  I  hope,  with  some  of  my 
best  friends ;  yet,  to  tell  the  truth,  I  should  like  now  to 
return  home." 

"  And  why  not  ?  Will  you  not  trust  me  to  take  you 
there?" 

"  No,  no,"  said  she,  shrinking  from  such  a  proposal ; 
"  I  can  not  go  now ;  I  am  not  permitted  to  do  so." 

"Not  permitted!  and  why,  in  Heaven's  name?" 


A  PEEP  AT  THE   PAST.  321 

"Reasons — family  reasons.  I  must  stay  as  long  as 
grandpapa  wishes  it." 

"  Family  reasons !"  reflected  the  captain,  doubting  not 
that  he  divined  them. 

"But,"  continued  Eleanor,  laughing,  "if  some  good 
fairy  would  fly  away  with  me,  and  I  could  wake  to 
morrow  in  mamma's  arms,  I  should  be  delighted !" 

"  Well,  although  I  can  not  transport  you  through  the 
air  in  a  car  drawn  by  dragons,  nor  yet  borrow,  as  more 
appropriate,  the  doves  of  Venus,  I  could  find  ways  and 
means  quite  as  effectual." 

"  No,  no ;  I  must  stay — for  a  short  time,  at  least ;  so 
don't  talk  of  it." 

"I  won't  talk  of  it,"  said  the  captain,  emphatically; 
"you  are  not  to  be  compromised;  I  understand  that; 
but — but — we  shall  see." 

Eleanor  returned,  carelessly,  the  smile  with  which  this 
was  said;  then,  after  a  few  moments,  added,  "We  make 
very  free  with  spirits,  'black,  white,  and  gray,'  and  yet 
I  doubt  if  even  you  would  not  rather  face  any  thing  of 
1  mortal  mould'  than  little  Queen  Mab,  or  a — " 

"Haunted  chamber,"  interrupted  the  captain. 

Her  countenance  changed,  and,  perceiving  it,  he  fell 
into  her  mood. 

"To  be  serious,"  said  he,  " I  do  not  know  but  that  a 
Highland  nurse  may  have  disposed  me  to  treat  such 
things  reverently." 

"What!  really  to  believe  in  them?"  asked  she,  anx 
iously  ;  " in  warnings  and  forebodings?" 

The  captain  turned  on  her  an  inquiring  look.  After 
a  pause  that  gave  effect  to  his  words,  he  said,  "It  is  not 
for  us  to  say  how  far  a  weak  or  sinful  purpose  may  be 
defeated,  or  a  good  one  confirmed,  by  what  you  call 
*  warnings.7  As  to  their  reality  in  any  given  case,  the 
individual  conscience  might  furnish  the  test.  For  in- 

02 


322  WALTER  THORNLEY;  OB, 

stance,  if  pursuing  a  course  of  passion  or  disobedience, 
an  admonition  of  danger  might  be  given — " 

"  You  think  so  ?"  said  she,  more  struck  by  his  manner 
than  by  the  personal  application  that  was  perhaps  in 
tended,  and  which  her  innocence  rejected. 

"But, in  saying  this,"  continued  he,  "I  do  but  repeat 
what  has  been  better  said  by  a  quaint  old  English  writer 
— that  '  the  highest  spirits  may  be  constantly  attendant 
on  the  service  of  man,  not  on  account  of  his  great  im 
portance,  but  because  he  is  the  only  poor  creature  that 
wants  their  assistance.'  But  surely,  my  dear  Miss  Ele 
anor,  these  inquiries  have  no  foundation  in  your  own  ex 
perience  ?" 

If  this  were  said  to  draw  from  her  any  admissions,  it 
failed  of  its  object.  There  was  something  in  his  tone 
and  look  that  did  not  invite  confidence ;  and  she  felt  re 
lieved  when  Pomp  appeared  in  search  of  her,  with  a 
message  from  massa  for  "  young  missis  to  come  in  de 
house  right  away,  or  she  cotch  cold." 

She  obeyed,  though  a  little  wondering  at  this  unusual 
timidity  on  her  account,  but  found  the  temperature  with 
in  much  lower  than  without.  Her  grandfather  was  at 
zero,  Phil  at  the  freezing-point,  and  her  aunt  shivering 
but  little  above,  only  prevented  the  same  rapid  descent 
by  her  habitual  politeness.  The  captain,  entirely  un- 
chilled,  appeared  not  to  perceive  the  change.  Thus 
passed  a  weary  half-hour,  during  which  neither  conver 
sation,  cards,  music,  nor  kind  looks  relieved  the  dead 
weight  which  had  fallen  on  all  but  the  one  for  whom  it 
was  intended. 

Unabashed  by  what  he,  nevertheless,  perfectly  under 
stood,  Captain  Talbot  took  his  own  way  to  meet  it. 

Kising  to  depart,  and  approaching  Mr.  Lawrence  with 
great  respect,  he  expressed  his  sense  of  his  generous 
hospitality,  his  unvarying  kindness- — strongly  empha- 


A  PEEP  AT  THE  PAST.  323 

sized — the  pleasure  lie  had  enjoyed  under  his  roof,  and 
his  concern  at  being  compelled  to  leave  them.  Turning 
to  Miss  Lawrence,  he  proffered  much  the  same  in  less 
formal  terms ;  then  thanked  Master  Philip  for  his  very 
agreeable  companionship  and  many  polite  attentions; 
assuring  them  all  that  nothing  had  been  omitted  on 
their  part  that  could  conduce  to  his  high  gratification ; 
and,  addressing  Eleanor  particularly,  he  begged  for  her 
commands  to  her  parents,  as  he  should  return  to  the 
city  the  following  day.  She,  as  much  surprised,  but 
less  disturbed  than  the  rest — who,  in  their  honesty,  felt 
as  if  the  captain  had  read  their  thoughts,  and  had  con 
victed  them  of  the  meanest  behavior — gave  him  her 
hand  frankly,  accompanied  by  regret  for  his  sudden  de 
parture.  Then,  with  a  parting  glance  to  all,  in  which 
might  have  been  detected  his  satisfaction  at  the  recoil 
of  the  enemy's  projectile,  he  bowed  himself  out. 

Mr.  Lawrence  was  the  first  to  break  the  silence  that 
ensued. 

"With  a  long  expiration,  to  allow  his  suppressed  breath 
to  escape,  he  exclaimed,  "Now,  I  should  be  glad  to 
know  what  the  devil  that  means  ?  Haven't  I  been  civil  ? 
Haven't  I  been  polite  ?  Haven't  I  been  hospitable  ?"  in 
the  way  in  which  persons  conscious  of  a  failure  seek  to 
be  justified. 

"Haven't  I  too?"  gently  inquired  Miss  Gertrude. 

"  And  haven't  I?"  asked  Philip,  uneasily. 

"And  haven't  I?"  exclaimed  Eleanor,  with  a  mis 
chievous  smile  at  the  absurdity  of  the  scene. 

"  Oh,  you,  indeed !"  said  Phil,  reproachfully.  "  That's 
well  for  you  to  ask — the  cause  of  all  the  trouble  1" 

"  Me,  Phil?  why  I  am  the  only  innocent  one." 

Mr.  Lawrence,  recovering  from  his  first  feeling  of  an 
noyance,  took  another  view  of  the  matter,  that  turned 
the  scale  in  his  own  favor.  "  A  stranger  had  presumed 


324  WALTER  THORNLEY;  OK, 

to  teach  him  manners !  and  in  his  own  house !     Intol 
erable!" 

"  I  have  never  been  so  insulted  in  my  life.  An  inso 
lent,  ungrateful  puppy !  Comes  here  with  no  other  in 
troduction  than  his  own  impudence;  presumes  on  my 
hospitality  to  billet  himself  upon  me  day  after  day; 
nauseates  me  with  his  fulsome  compliments ;  makes  love 
to  my  granddaughter  before  my  face ;  and  then  takes 
himself  off  with  the  air  of  a  great  man,  whom  he  dares 
to  insinuate  we  had  treated  like  ignorant  boors !  Never 
let  me  hear  his  name  again!"  A  prohibition  no  one 
was  likely  to  disregard. 


A  PEEP  AT  THE  PAST.  325 


CHAPTER  XXXI. 

A  FEW  days  after,  the  quiet  morning  of  Miss  Lawrence 
and  Eleanor  was  broken  in  upon  by  Phyllis,  who  rush 
ed  up-stairs  to  inform  them  that  a  peddler  was  below. 

At  that  time,  when  the  country  shops  were  few  and 
very  indifferent,  these  itinerant  traders  were  generally 
acceptable,  especially  in  the  female  world.  Miss  Ger 
trude,  therefore,  having  recollected  various  small  wants, 
prepared  to  go  down,  followed  by  Eleanor  chiefly  for 
the  novelty. 

The  man  had  been  directed  to  come  into  the  portaal, 
and  there,  surrounded  by  the  servants,  old  and  young, 
big  and  little,  he  opened  his  pack  and  displayed  his 
wares.  He  was  a  sturdy,  hale-looking  man,  not  young, 
but  with  such  a  merry  eye  and  mirthful  face  no  one 
could  be  old.  These,  a  slight  limp,  and  certain  Yankee 
peculiarities  proclaimed  our  friend  Jed,  whose  profes 
sional  wanderings  had  led  him  hither. 

He  cast  a  look  of  more  than  usual  inquiry  at  the  la 
dies  as  they  approached,  in  answer  to  which  Aunt  Flore 
said,  "  Dese  yere  is  my  young  misseses" — Flore  always 
persisting  in  thus  styling  Miss  Gertrude,  distinguishing 
Eleanor,  when  necessary,  as  "  t'oder  young  missis,"  or 
"  de  young  missis  from  York." 

Jed  kept  his  eye  on  them. 

"  One  looks  older  than  t'other,"  thought  he,  "  she's 
pretty -lookin',  though ;  but  she  can't  be  the  one,  though 
she's  more  suitable." 

Having  thus  communed  with  himself,  he  said,  "Well, 
ladies,  here's  my  shop — I  call  it  my  *  univarsal !' — Mus 
lins,  silks,  shawls,  stockin's,  gloves,  pins,  needles,  scis- 


326  WALTER  THORNLEY;  OR, 

sors,  knives,  tapes,  ribbons;  every  thing  that  women 
folks  can  want — except  sweethearts,  and  these  'ere  will 
bring  them  too.  No  offense,  I  hope  ?" 

The  servants  giggled. 

"If  ole  massa  was  here,"  said  Pomp  aside  to  Phyllis, 
"  guess  he'd  send  him  to  a  wuss  place,  if  he  talk  dat  ar 
way  to  young  missis.  Jess  right  for  you,  Phyllis." 

"  Yelly  be  still !"  replied  she,  with  a  reproving  nudge. 

Jed's  quick  eye  detected  a  joke,  and  he  turned  it  to 
his  own  account.  Holding  up  a  bright  plaid  cotton 
handkerchief — an  imitation  of  those  called  Madras — 
"  Here,"  said  he  to  Phyllis,  "  is  the  very  article  for  your 
head !  and  only  four  shillings,  lawful." 

She  looked  admiringly,  but  hesitated. 

"  If  you  can't  make  it  out,  that  'ere  young  fellow  will 
give  it  to  you ;  I  see  it  in  his  eye." 

"  Cock's  pottie  up  for  her  den !"  retorted  Pomp.  "  She 
better  get  it,  put  roun'  my  t'roat  'stead  ob  her  calabash !" 

Phyllis  pouted;  but  good-natured,  fat  Aunt  Minty 
brought  back  the  smile,  saying,  "  Neber  you  mine  him, 
Phylly — impurent  nigger !" 

While  she  folded  and  refolded  the  tempting  handker 
chief,  Jed  assailed  Aunt  More  with  a  cotton  shawl  over 
spread  with  flowers  of  the  largest  size  and  brightest  col 
ors,  but  of  no  particular  genera  or  order. 

"  There !"  said  he,  throwing  it  over  her  shoulders  adroit 
ly  as  a  Broadway  shopman  of  the  present  day,  and  with 
much  the  same  recommendation,  "  there's  a  splendid  ar 
ticle  !  If  that  don't  suit  you,  why,  you  can't  be  suited — 
that's  all." 

"Oh,  Hughey !  carry  me  out,  and  berry  me  decent!" 
exclaimed  Pomp ;  "  why,  Aunt  Flore,  Uncle  Mink  neb- 
er  know  he  own  wife." 

"  Get  'long,  you  eberlastin'  nigger,  you !"  replied  she, 
enforcing  her  words  with  a  push  that  sent  him  against 


A   PEEP  AT  THE   PAST.  327 

the  wall ;  "  you  always  t'ink  de  boat  neber  can't  cross 
widout  your  oar !" 

The  rebuke  would  probably  have  failed  to  check  the 
flow  of  Pomp's  wit,  had  not  the  attention  of  Miss  Law 
rence,  hitherto  occupied  in  her  own  selection  from  among 
the  divers  small  packages  spread  before  her,  been  now 
attracted  to  what  was  going  on ;  and,  desirous  to  pre 
vent  imposition  on  the  servants,  she  approached.  "While 
she  watched  over  and  advised  their  purchases,  Momma 
Zip  entered,  and,  making  her  courtesy  to  Jed,  endeav 
ored  to  explain  her  wants. 

"  Poor  old  cre'ter !"  said  he,  "  I  can't  make  nothin'  out 
of  her." 

Diving  into  her  pocket,  she  produced  a  tobacco-box, 
and  this  symbol  was  intelligible. 

Jed  shook  his  head. 

"  No,  no ;  I  only  trade  in  ladies'  notions.  They  nev 
er  want  that,  unless,"  with  a  wink,  "a  little  'ladies7 
twist,'  you  know.  But  stop ;  let  me  see,"  and  he  drew 
from  his  pocket  a  paper  of  the  kind  desired ;  "  there ; 
I  always  keep  that  'ere  sort  for  my  own  use,"  at  the 
same  time  putting  a  pinch  in  his  mouth ;  "  this  will  sup 
port  natur  till  I  can  get  more ;  and  now,  old  woman, 
you  shall  have  the  rest;  and  stay!  here's  a  nice  new 
pipe  for  you.  I  keep  pipes  'cause  sometimes  mothers 
want  'em  for  their  children  to  blow  bubbles."  Then, 
turning  to  Eleanor,  who  stood  near  him :  "  For  that  mat 
ter,  we  all  blow  bubbles,  miss,  don't  we,  all  our  days? 
I  hope  your'n  won't  burst  too  soon.  Now,  Goody, 
you're  fixed,  I  guess.  No,  no;  I  don't  want  any  of 
your  pennies.  I  mistrust  you  never  got  your  own  yet 
in  this  world.  /  won't  take  nothin'  from  you — no 
rate." 

Momma's  gratitude  found  expression  in  repeated 
courtesies,  and  she  drew  on  one  side,  thus  giving  Jed 
an  opportunity  of  addressing  Eleanor. 


328  WALTER  THORNLEY;  OR, 

"  And  what  shall  I  sell  you,  my  pretty  lady  ?"  said  he. 

Pleased  with  his  kindness  to  Momma,  Eleanor  endeav 
ored  to  think  of  something. 

"Have  you  pocket-handkerchiefs?"  she  asked. 

"Sartin — plenty  on  'em;  just  made  for  your  little 
lily  hand  too ;"  bringing  forth  some,  to  which,  without 
vanity,  Eleanor  might  have  assigned  a  less  distinguished 
destination.  She  looked  rather  dubious,  but  bought 
some. 

"Perhaps  you'd  like  picter  ones  too?" 

"Picture  ones?" 

"  Yes,  miss,  very  musical  and  instruct  too.  Here's 
one;"  and  he  displayed  one  on  which  was  stamped  a 
chronological  arrangement  of  the  kings  and  queens  of 
England.  The  names,  surmounted  with  a  crown,  were 
placed  within  circles,  sometimes  attended  also  by  em 
blematical  allusions  to  circumstances  or  events  connect 
ed  with  them ;  as,  for  instance,  seven  smaller  crowns  en 
circling  the  name  of  Egbert ;  William  Eufus  accompa 
nied  by  an  arrow ;  a  lamprey  coiled  around  the  name  of 
Henry  I. ;  the  garter  twined  round  Edward  III. ;  and  two 
circles,  one  inscribed  Henry  VII.,  the  other  Elizabeth, 
were  connected  by  a  knot  of  ribbons,  the  ends  of  which 
formed  a  scroll,  on  which  was  written  a  couplet  more 
convenient  as  stating  a  fact  than  admirable  as  poetry : 

"  York  and  Lancaster  united  were 
By  Henry's  marriage  with  Eliza  fair." 

This  was,  in  Jed's  estimation,  a  production  of  high  art. 

"  There  I"  said  he,  triumphantly.  "  buy  that,  and  you'll 
have  it  all  at  your  fingers'  ends,  as  a  body  may  say.  If 
that  isn't  bein'  lamed  at  small  expense,  I  should  like  to 
know !  Or,  if  you  like  picters,  you  can  frame  it,  and 
hang  it  up  in  your  keepin'-room,  always  handy." 

Perceiving  that  it  did  not  take,  much  to  his  surprise, 
he  proceeded  to  another. 


A  PEEP   AT  THE   PAST.  829 

"  Well,  then,  here's  one ;"  exhibiting  Tippo  Saib  sur 
rendering  his  two  sons  as  hostages  to  Lord  Cornwallis. 
"  Now  did  you  ever  see  any  thing  more  affectin'  ?  I'm 
sure  such  a  tender-hearted  young  lady  must  have  feel- 
in's  at  such  a  sight !  And  then  to  think  that  jest  so  we 
should  have  had  to  take  it,  if  it  hadn't  been  for  the  old 
Continentals,  and  the  rest.  Every  thing  gin  up — our 
fortins  to  the  crown  and  our  necks  to  the  halter !  Awful ! 
miss,  eh — and  only  jest  two  shillin's,  'lawful — " 

But  Eleanor's  "feelin's"  were  only  excited  to  laughter. 

"  Ah !  I  see  you  don't  understand  these  things  like 
those  that  has  sarved.  Well,  I  can't  blame  you ;  that's 
nat'ral.  But  here  is  somethin'  that'll  come  nearer  home." 
And  he  spread  out  one  on  which  was  printed  the  old 
Scotch  song  " Whistle  and  I'll  come  to  you,  my  lad;" 
and,  in  illustration,  a  young  girl  was  represented  at  a 
cottage  door,  with  eyes  directed  to  a  distant  stile,  on 
which  leaned  a  youth,  who,  with  lover-like  expression, 
seemed  watching  her  approach. 

"Now  that,"  said  Jed,  closely  observing  Eleanor, 
"that  I  call  a  speakin'  thing.  Don't  you  see  her  eyes 
meltin'  like,  and  her  lips  movin'  ?  Don't  you  seem  to 
hear  his  whistle,  clear  as  a  sky -lark  ?  Lord  bless  rny  old 
body !  it  makes  me  young  agin  jest  to  look  at  it.  I  feel 
e'en  a'most  as  if  it  was  I  myself." 

Eleanor's  laugh  encouraged  him.  "And  so  do  you 
too ;  I  see  you  do ;  jest  as  if  you  was  a  settin'  by  your 
charmber  window,  a  knowin'  that  somebody  was  a  wait- 
in'  for  you  down  yonder  at  the  eend  of  the  road,  or  the 
1  awenoo'  as  the  quality  calls  it." 

To  check  applications  so  familiar  and  personal,  she  re 
plied  coldly,  "  No,  I  don't  fancy  any  of  these.  Have  you 
any  lead-pencils  ?" 

"Sartinly,  Jed  Cooley  never  fails;"  and  he  handed 
them.  They  were  poor  enough,  but  she  took  them. 


330  WALTER  THORNLEY;  OR, 

"  And  here's  sometliin'  tliat  goes  with  them,"  said  he, 
handing  a  small  tablet  for  memoranda.  "  Here's  days, 
weeks,  months,  the  whole  year ;  and  see,  here's  the  place 
for  the  pencil  too,  all  quite  nat'ral  and  convenient.  Now 
jest  look ;  this'll  sarve  to  make  you  remember  all  you've 
done,  and  all  you've  got  to  do.  As  to  all  that  folks  has 
done,  that  isn't  jest  always  what  they  like  to  remember, 
I  know.  Not  meanin'  you,  miss,  by  no  means ;  but  me. 
For  when  a  man  has  been  a  soldierin'  seven  long  years, 
tearin'  round  like  mad,  in  heat  and  cold,  wet  and  dry, 
sometimes  full  and  sometimes  empty ;  fightin',  swearin', 
settin'  fire  to  houses,  makin'  widders  and  orphans,  it 
don't  make  a  feller  speret'al,  I  can  tell  you;  and  such 
memorandums  isn't  very  pleasant  readin',  'specially  when 
he  thinks  of  that  big  memorandum  book  up  there !"  cast 
ing  a  grave  look  upward ;  "  but  as  to  what  one  has  got  to 
do  in  the  way  of  business,  you  know,  and  the  like,  no 
one  can't  object." 

Eleanor  examined  the  tablet,  admitted  its  usefulness, 
and  kept  it. 

"  Perhaps  you  don't  quite  see  into  it  yet ;  let  me  show 
you,  miss.  Jest,  for  instance,  to-day's  Tuesday,  to-mor 
row  Wednesday.  Now,  let's  suppose" — lowering  his 
voice,  speaking  deliberately  and  emphatically,  and  af 
fecting  to  write  in  the  tablet  as  he  spoke — "that  you'd 
got  to  meet  him  at  nine  o'clock  to-morrow  evening,  at 
the  eend  of  the  road,  a  little  beyond  the  gate.  Bein'  put 
down  here  you  can't  forget,  you  know ;  and  so" — taking 
a  slip  of  paper  from  his  pocket — "I'll  jest  put  that  in 
to  mark  the  place,  and  to  show  you  that  I  am  under  or 
ders  from  the  right  one."  Then,  in  a  still  lower  tone,  he 
added,  "  If  you  won't  come,  rniss,  you  have  nothin'  to 
do  but  to  shake  your  head." 

Putting  the  pencil  in  its  place,  and  folding  the  tablet 
up  quickly,  he  looked  sharply  and  inquiringly  at  her  as 


A   PEEP   AT   THE   PAST.  831 

he  put  it  into  her  hand ;  while  she,  amazed,  bewildered, 
and  not  as  yet  clearly  comprehending,  received  it  pas 
sively,  and  made  no  sign. 

Satisfied  with  this,  he  proceeded  to  bundle  up  his 
wares  with  all  dispatch,  and  Eleanor,  trying  to  collect 
her  thoughts,  was  devising  how  best  to  reprove  his  im 
pertinence,  when  Mr.  Lawrence  entered,  and  she  saw 
that  she  must  remain  quiet  if  she  would  avoid  a  violent 
scene. 

With  a  frown  directed  against  the  unwelcome  peddler, 
he  exclaimed,  in  an  angry  tone,  "  Another  of  these  ver 
min!  I  wonder,  Gertrude,  you  will  encourage  them. 
They  bring  nothing  but  trash,  and  cheat  the  poor  devils 
out  of  the  little  money  they  have." 

His  daughter  assured  him  that  this  man  was  an  ex 
ception — that  he  brought  good  and  reasonable  things, 
such  as  the  neighborhood  did  not  furnish. 

Encouraged  by  this,  Jed  reopened  his  pack,  and  of 
fered  to  Mr.  Lawrence's  inspection  a  snuff-box  of  glitter 
ing  material,  gaudily  ornamented,  with  a  smile  of  the 
most  imperturbable  good-humor. 

"  There,  sir,  is  not  that  ike  thing  ?  Look  at  it  and  ex 
amine  it  car'fully  as  you  please,  sir;  inside  and  out. 
Why,  'twould  pass  for  gold,  sir!" 

To  ask  Mr.  Lawrence's  approval  of  a  sham  of  any 
kind  was  to  insult  him  past  bearing,  and  the  manner 
rendered  it  even  more  offensive. 

"  You  infernal  Yankee  knave !"  he  exclaimed,  "  do  you 
offer  me  a  pinchbeck  snuff-box  ?  Pass  for  gold !  yes,  as 
you  pass  for  an  honest  man !  with  a  fair  outside.  March ! 
begone  with  your  Yankee  shams !  If  ever  you  darken 
my  doors  again  I'll  have  you  tossed  in  a  blanket.  I'll 
set  the  dogs  on  you  I" 

Jed  was  not  a  man  to  be  frightened  by  a  few  hard 
words.  With  no  haste,  and  perfect  composure,  he  re- 


332  WALTER  THORNLEY;  OR, 

placed  the  box,  strapped  his  pack,  threw  it  over  his 
shoulder,  then,  standing  erect,  and  planting  his  staff 
firmly  on  the  floor,  he  said,  "Good-day  to  you,  sir! 
May  the  doors  of  your  house  never  be  darkened  by 
nothin'  worse  than  an  '  old  Continental,'  who  has  shed 
his  blood  to  prop  its  foundation,  and  to  keep  your  head 
in  its  own  place.  As  to  the  blanket,  if  you'd  a  been  so 
gin'rous  as  to  send  it  to  Valley  Forge,  when  I  lay  there 
a  freezin'  for  you,  'twou'd  been  about  right ;  at  present 
I  have  no  occasion."  Then,  making  a  military  salute  to 
the  ladies,  and  nodding  pleasantly  to  the  servants,  he 
marched  off,  in  his  own  view,  "with  colors  flying," 
leaving  Mr.  Lawrence  in  that  agreeable  perplexity  when 
a  person  knows  not  if  he  has  had  the  best  or  the  worst 
in  a  contest  he  has  himself  needlessly  provoked. 
Jed's  clear  whistle,  succeeded  by 

"Old  King  Cole  was  a  jolly  old  soul, 
And  a  jolly  old  soul  was  he  !" 

was  heard  as  he  struck  into  the  avenue,  along  which  he 
presently  perceived  himself  to  be  followed  by  the  house 
dog,  Brag,  whose  suspicions  were  awakened  by  the  loud 
tones  attending  his  exit  from  the  house,  but  who  satisfied 
himself  with  the  intention  of  seeing  him  off  the  premises. 
This  was,  however,  delayed  by  Jed's  choosing  a  shady 
spot  near  the  gate,  and  seating  himself,  at  the  same  time 
opening  a  wallet  suspended  at  his  side.  From  this  he 
drew  forth  the  remains  of  his  dinner ;  and,  having  pur 
posely  put  the  wind  "between  his  nobility"  and  Brag's 
nose,  the  latter  soon  caught  the  perfume  of  a  mutton- 
bone,  which  certified  so  satisfactorily  to  the  character 
of  the  stranger  that  he  drew  nearer  to  cultivate  his  ac 
quaintance. 

"  Ay,  I  thought  so,"  soliloquized  Jed ;  "  I  thought  so. 
But  it  isn't  nothin'  agin  him ;  he's  no  worse,  nor  half  so 
bad,  as  human  cre'ters  who  are  bribed  every  day.  Some 


A  PEEP  AT  THE   PAST. 

for  honor,  some  for  profit,  some  for  pleasure ;  for  hun 
ger,  rale  hunger,  like  him,  least  of  all.  There,  sir,"  said 
he,  throwing  a  bone  to  Brag,  whose  teeth  snapped  it  in 
a  second,  "I  may  have  a  call  to  these  'ere  parts  agin, 
spite  of  that  fractious  old  gentleman.  It's  always  well 
to  have  a  friend  at  court  they  say,  and  so  I  gin'rally 
make  a  p'int  of  standin'  well  with  the  dogs.  I  don't 
care  for  his  blanket ;  'twou'd  take  more  than  all  his  nig 
gers  to  get  Jed  Cooley  into  that  consarn.  But  dog's 
teeth  a'n't  favorable.  So — here — you,  what's  your  name  ? 
there's  another  bone ;  remember  me  if  ever  you  see  me 
agin ;"  and,  patting  him  on  the  head,  a  familiarity  Brag 
authorized  by  a  condescending  wag  of  his  tail,  "  now 
we're  friends,"  a  conclusion  that  the  dog  seemed  to  ad 
mit  by  stretching  himself  on  the  grass  at  his  side. 

"  Now,"  said  Jed,  reposing  in  like  manner,  "let  me 
consider.  It's  always  well  to  look  all  round  when  one's 
standin'  on  'slippery  ground,'  as  the  psalm-book  says, 
and  I  feel  kind  o'  skittish  about  this  business.  Let  me 
go  it  over  to  myself.  Well,  as  I  come  along  this  morn- 
in',  a  skirtin'  that  'ere  wood  yonder,  a  man — that  is,  a 
gentleman — meets  me.  At  first,  he  was  shy,  all  kiver'd 
up  in  his  cloak,  for  all  'twas  hot  enough  to  melt  a  body, 
and  his  hat  draw'd  over  his  eyes.  Presently  he  seemed 
to  bethink  himself,  and  turned  toward  me.  So,  as  I  al 
ways  like  to  be  friendly  and  to  give  the  time  o'  day,  if 
no  thin'  else,  I  tips  him  a  salute.  With  that,  says  he, 
'  Where  be  you  a  goin'  ?'  '  Sir,'  says  I,  1 1  am  a  goin'  to 
sell  you  so'thin'  out  of  my  pack,  if  so  be  I  can  suit  you 
— knives,  pipes,  neckerchief,  stockin's  and  so  forth,'  un- 
strappin'  at  the  same  time.  But  he  looked  kind  o'  sharp 
and  uneasy,  and  would  not  hear  me.  'I  mean,'  says  he, 
'what  place  are  you  goin'  to?'  'Oh,'  says  I,  'to  that 
'ere  big  house  'mong  the  trees.'  '  Ay,'  says  he,  '  all  right. 
What's  your  name  ?'  says  he,  next. 


334  WALTER  THORNLEY;    OR, 

" '  Jedediah — Jed,  for  shortness — Cooley,  sir,'  says  I, 
taking  off  my  hat,  'cause  I  always  lay  out  to  be  civil. 
I  larn'd  that  at  school.  Well,  then  he  stopped  to  con 
sider,  looking  at  me  as  if  he  expected  to  see  clean  to  my 
backbone,  but  I  never  dodged  a  bit.  Then  says  he, 
'Can  you  be  trusted?'  flinging  me  a  piece  of  money  at 
the  same  time,  jest  as  I  threw  a  mutton-bone  to  this  'ere 
dog.  'Hope  I  can,  sir,'  says  I.  'Well,  then,'  says  he, 
'you'll  see  a  pretty  young  lady  at  that  big  house — just 
ask  her  to  meet  a  friend  here  to-morrow  evening  at  nine 
o'clock — you  understand,'  says  he,  puttin'  his  finger  to 
his  nose,  so.  '  I  expect  I  do,  sir,'  says  I,  but  I  s'pose  I 
laughed,  for  he  looked  desp'rate  angry,  and  said,  '  What 
do  you  mean,  sir  ?'  '  Oh,  nothin','  says  I,  '  but  you  said 
"young"  lady,  didn't  you?'  'Be  sure,'  says  he,  'what 
if  I  did  ?'  '  Oh,  nothin',  sir,  only  there's  no  disputin' 
tastes,  sir,  that's  all.  And  what  name  shall  I  tell  her?' 
'  No  matter  for  that,'  says  he,  '  only  do  as  I  bid  you.' 

"  Now,  thinks  I,  when  a  feller  is  shy  of  tellin'  his 
name  he's  ugly — specially  when  I'd  gin  him  mine  so 
freely.  However,  I'll  fix  him  for  that  yet.  Then  says 
I,  '  I'm  an.  old  soldier.  I'm  used,  on  secret  sarvice,  to 
give  a  watch- word.'  '  No  matter  for  that,'  says  he,  very 
sharp.  But  presently,  considering,  he  says,  '  Stay,  you're 
right ;'  and,  taking  out  a  slip  of  paper,  he  writes  some- 
thin'  on't  with  a  pencil.  '  There,'  says  he,  '  give  her 
that ;  then  meet  me  here  with  her  answer,  and,  if  favor 
able,  you  shall  have  as  much  more  as  I  gave  you  just 
now.' 

"Well,  such  was  my  arrant,  and  I  think  I've  done  it 
pretty  'cute;  but,  somehow,  I  don't  feel  comfortable. 
She  is  pretty  as  a  picter,  and  looks  as  good  as  she  is 
pretty.  I  can't  bear  to  think  of  her  havin'  any  consarn 
with  that  fellar.  I'll  keep  a  look  out  for  her  yet.  But 
he's  a  prowlin'  about  in  that  'ere  wood,  a  waitin'  for 


A  PEEP  AT  THE   PAST.  335 

me,  I  s'pose,  so  I  must  march  agin" — resuming  his  pack 
and  staff,  and  giving  Brag  a  farewell  pat,  he  issued  from 
the  gate,  and,  after  proceeding  a  short  distance  in  the 
neighboring  wood,  encountered  a  gentleman  evidently 
on  the  watch  for  him.  His  slouched  hat  and  large  cloak 
concealed  much  of  his  face  and  person,  and  in  a  voice 
subdued  to  harshness,  he  said,  "What  success?" 

"  Your  arrant's  did,  sir,"  said  Jed,  "  straight  as  an  ar 
row." 

"  And  she  will  come?" 

"Sartin,  sir;  she  understood  the  signals;  all  cor 
rect." 

Putting  a  piece  of  money  into  Jed's  hand,  according 
to  contract,  he  was  silent  for  some  minutes,  during  which 
Jed  tossed  up  the  crown  with  a  careless,  satisfied  air, 
and  the  stranger  surveyed  him  with  a  scrutinizing  gaze. 

"  An  intelligent  fellow,"  said  he,  thinking  aloud. 

"Yes,  sir,"  said  Jed,  "just  so,"  still  playing  with  the 
money. 

"  Pray  what  has  been  your  business  heretofore  ?  You 
called  yourself  a  soldier,  though  your  drilling  seems 
rather  rusty  at  present." 

"  I  started,  sir,  at  the  plow-tail ;  did  all  kind  of  farm- 
work.  Then  the  war  broke  out,  and  I  was  drafted  into 
the  militia.  Then  I  sarved  in  the  reg'lars — right  old 
Continental,  I  tell  you.  There  I  got  this  'ere,"  rapping 
his  leg  with  his  stick.  "  When  the  war  was  over  I  drove 
a  stage  near  on  to  a  year ;  but  goin'  all  weathers,  night 
and  day,  didn't  suit  this  'ere  pesky  leg,  so  I  gave  in,  and 
took  to  peddlin' — at  your  sarvice,  sir,"  with  a  touch  of 
his  hat. 

"  Ah!  you  have  driven  four-in-hand  for  a  year,"  said 
the  gentleman,  approvingly ;  "  and  you  call  yourself  a 
good  and  safe  driver?" 

Jed,  with  a  look  of  rather  indignant  surprise,  answer 
ed,  "  I— guess— I—do !" 


336  WALTER  THORNLEY;  OR, 

Again  the  gentleman  paused,  and  again  communed 
with  himself.  "I  must  trust  some  one;"  then  said 
aloud,  "Is  your  business  finished  here?" 

"  Yes,  sir,  for  the  present,  about  done." 

"Have  you  any  acquaintances  in  these  parts?" 

"No,  sir;  Dutch  people  and  Yankees  don't  step  well 
together :  one's  too  slow,  t'other  too  quick." 
'  "  Then  you  will  proceed  from  here  to  your  home?" 

"  Sartin ;  only  stoppin'  to  accommodate  folks  on  the 
way." 

Again  the  gentleman  looked  and  hesitated ;  then,  as 
if  suddenly  deciding,  said,  "Be  here  at  nine  to-morrow 
evening — no,  a  quarter  before.  A  carriage  and  pair  of 
horses  will  be  secured  at  the  edge  of  the  wood,  on  that 
farther  side.  Having  reported  yourself  to  me  here,  I 
will  give  you  farther  orders.  When  the  lady  comes, 
you  must  be  ready  to  assist  her.  She  may  be  a  little 
overcome  by  fear — of  pursuit,  I  mean — and  unable  to 
walk  to  the  carriage.  You  understand?  Ladies  have 
not  always  the  courage  to  do  the  very  thing  they  most 
desire,  and  are  grateful  for  a  little  gentle  force.  You 
understand  ?" 

Jed's  face  wore  an  expression  of  entire  and  approving 
comprehension. 

"Just  so,  sir.  Land!  I  haven't  seen  the  world  for 
nothin'.  I'm  up  to  a  thing !  women  folks  'mongst  the 
rest.  They  are  the  charmin'est  cre'ters  in  the  world, 
sir,  but  they  don't  never  know  their  own  minds.  "Well, 
sir,  and  how  long  will  you  want  me  ?" 

Without  replying  directly,  the  gentleman  said,  "  'Tis 
thirteen  miles  to  the  lower  landing;  do  you  know  the 
road?" 

"Yes,  sir,  parfectly ;  have  tramped  it  more  than  once." 

"It  is  in  good  order;  I  came  over  it  to-day.  Two 
hours  and  a  half  will  take  us  there." 


A  PEEP  AT  THE   PAST.  337 

"Less  time  too,  sir." 

"It  will  be  night,  you  recollect?" 

"  Yes,  but  the  moon  will  be  up." 

"When  there,  you  will  be  dismissed.  The  carriage 
belongs  there.  You  can  then  take  your  quickest  route 
home." 

"And  the  driver  who  brings  it  here?"  asked  Jed, 
"  what  comes  of  him  ?" 

"  That  driver  will  be  myself.  I  shall  have  something 
else  to  do  when  I  go  back.  You  understand  ?" 

"  Oh,  sartin,  sartin !  all  right !  I  guess  I'm  up  to  trap 
— never  trust  two  when  one  will  do." 

"  Yes,  I  see  you  take  me.  Obey  orders,  and  your  pay 
shall  be  such  as  shall  satisfy  you,  of  which  I  give  you 
this  as  earnest-money." 

"  Thank  you,  sir,"  said  Jed,  rejecting  it ;  "  I'll  be  paid 
when  the  job's  done,  if  you  please." 

"  Well,  that's  honest.  I  feel  sure  of  you.  A  quarter 
before  nine  to-morrow  evening;"  and  he  disappeared 
into  the  wood,  leaving  Jed  in  a  musing  posture,  nibbling 
the  head  of  his  staff.  After  some  moments  he  struck  it 
to  the  ground,  and  exclaimed,  "  Well,  it's  a  risky  busi 
ness,  but  I'll  do  it!" 

P 


338  WALTER  THORNLEY;  OR, 


CHAPTER  XXXII. 

As  Jed  departed,  his  customers,  gathering  their  pur 
chases,  scattered,  congratulating  themselves  that  their 
traffic  had  not  been  sooner  interrupted. 

Eleanor  had  a  subject  of  more  serious  thought.  De 
feated  in  her  purpose  of  returning  the  tablet  to  the  ped 
dler,  with  a  proper  rebuke  for  his  conduct,  she  sought  a 
retired  seat  in  the  garden,  to  review  the  matter  calmly. 
In  doing  so,  she  recollected  his  having  written  in  the 
tablet,  and  she  referred  to  it  in  the  expectation  of  farther 
light.  She  found  nothing  intelligible;  but  on  the  slip 
of  paper  he  had  inserted  as  a  mark  was  the  following : 

"The  keel  to  the  wave,  the  hand  to  the  oar, 
And  the  boat  to  the  maiden  that  sits  on  the  shore." 

The  dim,  vague  hope  suggested  by  the  first  address  of 
the  peddler,  but  rejected  by  her  better  sense,  and  then 
frowned  down  by  her  displeasure,  at  these  words  re 
vived  irrepressibly.  Eead  and  re-read,  at  every  instant 
it  gained  confirmation.  "  What  could  they  be  but  a  to 
ken,  an  assurance,  from  the  only  person  who  knew  of 
their  interview,  and  the  real  significance  of  this  allusion 
to  the  boat  ?  And  who  could  that  person  be  but  "Wal 
ter?  Who  but  he  could  furnish  such  a  credential?" 
But  again:  "  Could  he,  would  he,  ask  her  thus  to  meet 
him  ? ' '  Her  heart  beat  the  response.  ' '  Her  earnest  pro 
hibition  against  entering  the  house  would  naturally  pre 
vent  his  now  attempting  it.  If  he  asked  a  meeting  un 
der  such  circumstances,  it  must  be  for  reasons  that  would 
justify  it.  It  was  the  last  thing  he  would  do,  unless 
compelled." 

Her  own  dislike  to  a  violation  of  decorum  rose  in  op- 


A  PEEP  AT  THE  PAST.  ,339 

position.  "  How  could  she,  alone,  in  the  shade  of  even 
ing,  unauthorized  by  the  permission  or  even  knowledge 
of  the  friends  who  had  the  right  to  direct  her,  go  at  the 
call  of  one  who — she  could  not  deny  it — might  prove  a 
person  unworthy  of  the  confidence  ?  What  would  her 
father,  the  stern  advocate  of  female  propriety;  what 
would  her  mother,  whose  gentle  dignity  repressed  all 
thoughtless  compromise  of  delicacy,  say  to  such  a  pro 
ceeding?"  She  became  faint  and  cold.  "But  then,  if 
it  should  be  Walter.  He  could  only  come  on  angels'  er 
rands  !  Ought  I  not  to  trust  him  ?  Can  I  bear  to  dis 
appoint  him  ?  to  make  it  apparent  that  I  have  not  faith 
in  him  ?  What  shall  I  do  ?  what  shall  I  do  ?" 

A  summons  to  tea  found  the  question  unanswered. 
As  she  entered  the  house  she  met  Philip,  attended  by 
his  dogs,  jumping  and  barking  around  him  with  noisy 
delight  at  his  sporting  preparations,  in  which  they  un 
derstood  their  co-partnership. 

"  Ah !  Eleanor,  well  met.  I  have  been  looking  the 
house  over  for  you,  to  say  good-by.  Not,  however,"  in 
answer  to  her  look  of  inquiry,  "  not  for  very  long.  I 
am  going  down  to  young  Morton's  to-night.  We  start 
early  in  the  morning  for  a  shooting  ramble  of  a  day  or 
two.  I  take  my  dogs,  for  I  can  not  trust  his." 

"  You  don't  take  Brag,  I  hope." 

"  No,  of  course  not,"  said  he,  laughing  ;  "  he  would  be 
rather  more  plague  than  profit.  But  why  do  you  ask  ? 
Not  from  fear?" 

"Oh  no,  there's  nothing  to  be  afraid  of.  But  of  late 
I'm  not  so  profound  a  sleeper  as  usual;  and  I  like  to 
hear  the  old  fellow  going  his  rounds  at  night,  talking  to 
the  moon,  or  challenging  the  neighbor  dogs.  It  is  com 
panionship,  and,  when  wakeful,  'tis  quite  agreeable." 

"  Pshaw !"  said  Phil,  with  an  impatient  gesture,  "here's 
that  confounded  pistol.  I  have  been  showing  it  to  Mor- 


340 

ton  and  forgot  to  put  it  away.  I  must  run  up  stairs 
with  it  at  once.  Excuse  me;  I  have  not  a  minute  to 
spare.  I  dare  not  leave  it  here ;  that  fellow,  Pomp,  will 
be  trying  experiments  with  it." 

"  Give  it  to  me ;  I'll  take  care  of  it  for  you." 

"Will  you?  that's  very  kind.  I  would  not  trouble 
you,  but  Morton's  waiting  for  me.  But  take  care ;  the 
charge  is  not  drawn.  You're  not  afraid  ?" 

"  No,  indeed !  thanks  to  your  instruction." 

"  Well,  good-night."  But,  holding  her  hand,  he  lin 
gered  a  moment. 

"  Give  me  credit,  Eleanor.  Only  once  have  I  spoken 
to  her !  and  that  once,"  with  a  sort  of  shudder,  "  what 
was  it?" 

"I  don't  know  about  the  pleasure  of  speaking,"  said 
Eleanor  laughing,  "if  that  is  its  effect." 

"Ah!  you  do  not  know  how  much  harder  silence  is 
than  all  things  else — how  should  you  ?  But  one  of  these 
days,  my  fair  insensible  cousin !  Good-night !" 

"  One  of  these  days  !"  thought  Eleanor,  and  she  went 
to  her  room,  where  relieving  herself  of  hat,  shawl,  and 
pistol,  she  descended  to  the  parlor. 

Much  to  her  satisfaction,  her  grandfather  showed  no 
trace  of  the  irritation  the  peddler  had  excited.  On  the 
contrary,  he  was  kinder  than  usual  of  late. 

"  Come,  Leentje" — a  Dutch  diminutive  for  Eleanor  he 
sometimes  used  when  in  a  petting  mood — "come,  Leentje," 
said  he,  "this  evening  we'll  have  cards,  and  you  shall 
choose.  Dummy,  or  piquet,  or  cribbage ;"  and  the  even 
ing  passed  off  pleasantly. 

There  are  all  kinds  of  ill-temper  in  the  world — capri 
cious,  irritable,  passionate,  sulky,  malignant.  No  one  of 
these  would  express  that  which  nature  or  circumstance 
had  conferred  on  Mr.  Lawrence.  He  was  not  capricious, 
because  he  always  believed  himself  acting  from  sufficient 


A  PEEP  AT  THE  PAST.  341 

cause — if  irritable  and  passionate,  yet,  when  least  looked 
for,  gentle  and  forbearing — roused  to  fury  by  the  small 
est  opposition,  yet  capable  of  the  most  generous  volun 
tary  surrender — sympathizing  with  truth,  courage,  and 
liberty,  yet  habitually  a  despot ;  and,  if  not  thus  making 
hypocrites  of  others,  it  was  either  that  their  fine  natures 
were  impassible  to  evil,  or  that  his  own  better  impulses 
operated  as  a  corrective.  Sulky  or  malignant  he  could 
never  be.  Of  all  epithets,  one  of  uncertain  etymology, 
and,  like  himself,  difficult  to  define,  was  most  applicable 
— he  was  a  queer  man. 

Eleanor  retired,  but  not  to  sleep.  Leaving  her  candle 
in  the  little  back  room  she  sometimes  dignified  as  her 
"study,"  she  passed  into  the  other,  in  the  front  of  the 
house,  and,  seating  herself  by  the  window,  she  looked  out 
into  the  quiet  night, 

*'  So  quiet,  that  even  the  motion  of  an  angel's  wing 
Would  interrupt  the  intense  tranquillity 
Of  silent  hills,  and  more  than  silent  sky. " 

The  moon,  high  in  the  clear  blue  heaven,  offered  to 
the  upcast  eye  an  image  of  unruffled  majesty,  while,  re 
flected  from  the  ever-moving  waters  below,  though  still 
beautiful,  she  trembled. 

"So  it  is!"  thought  Eleanor.  "Even  the  loveliest 
things  are  often  dimmed  and  distorted  here.  'Tis  only 
in  heaven  that  they  are  perfect.  So  even  with  our  af 
fections."  And  again  her  troubled  mind  debated  with 
itself,  "What  should  she  do  ?" 

She  regretted  now  that  she  had  not  consulted  with 
Philip.  She  knew  she  could  trust  him,  that  he  would 
have  remained  at  home  if  she  desired  it,  would  have 
watched  over  her  safety  if  necessary.  "  But,  then,  how 
make  partial  disclosures  to  him  ?  and,  still  more  difficult, 
how  tell  all  ?  No,  it  could  not  be." 

"  Then,"  naturally  courageous  except  when  assailed 


342  WALTER  THORNLEY;  OR, 

by  fears  of  things  unreal,  she  thought,  "  what  could  harm 
me  here,  within  our  own  bounds?" 

In  this  conflict  with  herself,  at  one  moment  renounc 
ing  the  idea,  at  another  incapable  of  so  doing,  she  sud 
denly  reflected,  "  He  has  just  returned  from  the  city ;  he 
has  seen  mamma ;  he  said  he  should.  He  brings  me  a 
message  from  her !  Oh  yes,  it  must  be  so !  and  then  I 
must,  I  ought  to  see  him !" 

Truth  to  tell,  she  was  but  too  ready  to  say,  with  St. 
Francis,  "  I  do  not  know  how  that  poor  virtue  prudence 
hath  offended  me,  but  I  can  not  cordially  like  it."  So 
lately  regretting  even  what  seemed  a  necessary  conceal 
ment,  she  was  now  about  to  commit  deliberately  that  of 
which  she  had  feared  merely  the  appearance.  Doubt 
yielded  to  conviction,  enforced  by  inclination — "Yes, 
she  would  go." 

Poor  Eleanor  was  not,  indeed,  infallible !  But  she  was 
little  more  than  "sweet  seventeen,"  and  she  was  in  love 
— when  imagination  silences  reason,  and  ingenuity  puz 
zles  prudence.  Ye  pretty  ones !  pity,  bat  do  not  imitate 
her. 

Having  decided,  she  nerved  herself  against  farther 
scruples.  The  clock  struck  eleven,  and,  rising,  she  went 
for  the  light  left  in  the  adjoining  room.  As  she  ap 
proached  the  table  a  strange  creaking  noise  arrested  her 
attention.  Surprised,  but  not  frightened,  she  listened 
with  a  quickened  sense.  It  was  repeated ;  it  was  near ; 
it  was  in  the  room  in  which  she  stood.  The  window- 
sashes  were  closed.  One  opened  on  the  af-dak,  and  she 
directed  her  eye  to  it  with  a  startling  suspicion  of  an  at 
tempt  to  raise  it ;  but  it  did  not  move.  Again  a  sound 
as  of  a  heavy  door  cautiously  turned  on  its  hinges !  She 
looked  at  the  door  of  the  room,  but  it  remained  shut. 
Again  the  same  mysterious  sound !  Her  fear  now  awak 
ened,  she  looked  anxiously  around,  not  knowing  from 


A   PEEP  AT  THE   PAST.  343 

what  quarter  to  expect  its  confirmation,  when,  her  eye 
resting  on  the  large  dark  kass,  she  perceived,  with  in 
creasing  alarm,  one  of  its  ponderous  doors  ajar.  Not 
daring  to  approach,  she  bent  on  it  a  look  of  suspicion. 
It  moved,  attended  by  the  same  sound,  now  fearfully 
explained.  For,  as  it  continued  slowly  opening,  inch 
by  inch,  while  she  stirred  not,  and  scarcely  breathed,  a 
man's  head  and  body  were  protruded.  She  did  not 
shriek.  The  instinct  of  self-preservation  was  stronger 
than  fear ;  but,  putting  her  hand  on  the  pistol  which  lay 
on  the  table  by  her  side,  she  raised  it  and  directed  it 
against  the  intruder. 

"  For  the  Lord's  sake,  miss !"  exclaimed  the  voice  of 
the  peddler,  "  don't  fire !  I  won't  hurt  a  hair  of  your 
head.  It's  only  me — only  Jed  Cooley !" 

This  information  did  not  convey  the  same  assurance 
to  Eleanor  that  it  might  to  others.  His  strange  reap 
pearance  oversetting  all  the  conclusions  she  had  just  ar 
rived  at,  while  he  might  be  supposed  the  accredited 
agent  of  Walter,  the  thought  instantly  occurred  to  her 
that  his  visit  by  day  had  only  been  a  stratagem  to  ascer 
tain  how  best  to  make  a  felonious  attempt  at  night. 

She  lowered  her  weapon,  however,  but  looked  at  him 
with  all  the  sternness  of  which  her  face  was  capable,  say 
ing,  resolutely,  "  How  dare  you  to  conceal  yourself  here? 
Begone  instantly,  or  I  shall  alarm  the  family." 

"Why,  what  a  hero^e  you  be!"  said  he;  "but  it's 
not  quite  rulable  though,  to  shoot  a  man  before  you 
challenge  him.  Not  so  much  as  '  Who  goes  there  ?'  and 
pop !  I'd  like  to  have  been  a  dead  man  in  no  time." 

"Silence!"  said  Eleanor,  imperatively,  "and begone!" 

"I  can't  go  yet,"  said  Jed,  shaking  himself  very  com 
posedly,  and  speaking  rather  low ;  "  that  consarned  place 
has  made  me  so  stiff,  all  crumpled  up  for  two  hours,  that 
I  can't  move  jest  at  present.  But  don't  be  afeard.  I 


344:  WALTER  THORNLEY;    OR, 

see  you  are,  though  you  do  behave  like  Judith  and 
Holofernes.  I  want  you  to  know  that  I  come  only  as  a 
friend;  do  jest  believe  this,  and  be  easy,  and  let  me  tell 
you  so'thin'  for  your  own  good.  So,  no  offense,  I'll  set 
down,  but  jest  as  far  off  as  you  please ;  my  lame  leg 
is  so  cramped,  bein'  crammed  like  a  bundle  of  rags  in 
that  'ere  what  y'  call  it,  that  I  can't  stand." 

Without  permission  granted,  he  seated  himself  at  a 
respectful  distance.  Eleanor,  upon  this,  retreating  still 
farther,  he  ventured  a  nearer  move ;  when,  mistaking  his 
meaning,  she  again  raised  the  pistol. 

"  Hold,  miss !  not  so  fast !  Unless  you  put  down  that 
'ere  popgun  of  your'n,  I  sha'n't  speak  at  all,  and  that 
would  be  your  loss,  not  mine.  I  only  want  to  come 
near  enough  to  speak  without  raisin'  the  ruff.  Now,  I 
tell  you,  on  the  honor  of  an  old  Continental,  and,  if  that 
don't  suit  you,  on  the  faith  of  a  Christian,  that  I  come 
for  your  good,  and  you'll  rue  the  day  if  you  don't 
hear  me.  I'll  swear  it,  if  you  choose,  on  that  'ere  Bible. 
It  consarns  that  message  I  brought  you  this  very 
morninV 

The  unmistakable  earnestness  and  frankness  of  the 
man,  together  with  this  last  intimation,  inspired  her  with 
confidence. 

"I  will  hear  you,"  said  she;  "be  quick;  but  remain 
where  you  are." 

Then,  taking  a  chair  herself,  at  what  she  deemed  a 
safe  distance,  but  still  retaining  the  weapon,  she  waited 
for  his  communication. 

Jed  cast  a  comical  glance  from  his  oblique  eye  at  the 
pistol. 

"I  guess,  miss,  you  better  not  play  much  with  that 
'ere  artillery  of  your'n.  It's  loaded,  you  know;  and, 
bein'  pinted  this  way,  it  rayther  chokes  me.  It's  like 
speakin'  with  a  knife  at  one's  throat." 


A  PEEP  AT  THE  PAST.  345 

Eleanor  did  not  condescend  to  reply,  but,  looking 
grand,  waved  her  hand  for  him  to  proceed. 

"  Well,  you  see,  miss,  I'm  a  little  giv'n  to  do  what  the 
sailors  call '  spinnin'  a  long  yarn.'  Can't,  therefor',  be  so 
very  quick,  as  you  say,  but'll  try  to  accommodate.  Now, 
it  a'n't  that  I  would  stand  about  helpin'  a  young  lady 
out  of  a  window,  or  into  a  coach,  if  so  be  that  her  sperrit 
was  up  t'it,  and  if  'twas  the  right  man.  But  this  'ere, 
maybe  puttin7  the  saddle  on  the  wrong  horse,  I  can't 
no  way  agree  to." 

Eleanor  looked  in  wonder  and  indignation. 

"What  do  you  mean?"  said  she,  angrily.  "What 
has  this  impertinence  to  do  with  your  message  to 
me?" 

"Considerable,"  replied  he,  with  a  significant  nod; 
"  con-sid-er-able,  I  tell  you !"  Then,  speaking  earnestly, 
"Now,  do,  do,  my  pretty  young  miss,  let  me  go  on  in  my 
own  way.  If  I'm  mindin'  my  manners  all  the  time, 
you'll  never  get  to  the  eend.  And,  to  begin,  I  must 
make  bold  to  ax  you  one  question.  What  kind  of  a 
person  might  you  be  expectin'  to  meet  at  that  'ere  place 
to-morrow  night?  Any  partic'lar  one?"  he  added,  with 
a  smile. 

The  delicacy  of  Eleanor  shrunk  from  confidence  on 
such  a  subject  with  such  a  person ;  yet,  conscience  con 
victing  her  of  the  very  purpose  hinted  at,  however  of 
fensive  it  sounded  when  thus  stated,  she  could  not 
speak,  but  sat  troubled  and  confused. 

"Well,  if  so  be  you're  backward  to  tell,  I'll  describe 
my  gentleman,  and  you'll  see  if  he's  your'n  or  not." 

Eleanor  still  remaining  silent,  he  proceeded. 

"  He's  tall ;  a  fine  figure  of  a  man ;  some  folks  might 
call  him  handsome,  but  I  don't ;  he's  hard-favored." 

"Oh  no !"  exclaimed  Eleanor,  off  her  guard.  " He 
is,  very  handsome !" 

P2 


346  WALTER  THORNLEY;  OR, 

Jed  smiled ;  and,  as  ruthlessly  as  he  would  have  de 
scribed  a  deserter,  proceeded : 

"  Has  a  mop  of  darkish  hair." 

"  Full,  curling,  brown  hair,"  said  Eleanor,  correcting 
him. 

"  Teeth,  white  as  a  dog's." 

"  As  ivory,"  interposed  Eleanor. 

"  Dark  eyes,  sharp  as  a  razor." 

"  Yes,  when  necessary ;  at  other  times  soft  and  kind 
as  those  of  a  child." 

" Didn't  look  partic'lar  soft  or  kind  on  me"  said  Jed, 
turning  his  quid.  "Voice  strong  and  harsh ;  and  then, 
ag'in,  a  kind  of  a  low  growl." 

"Oh  no,  no ;  his  voice  is  music  itself!    You've  no  ear !" 

"  No  ear  1"  This  was  touching  Jed  on  a  tender  point. 
"  No  ear !  that's  good !  Why,  there  a'n't  no  tune  I  can't 
whistle  and  sing  a'ter  once  hearin'  on't.  No  ear!  I 
guess !  Well,  no  matter  for  that ;  does  this  picter'  suit 
you,  miss  ?  Is  this  the  right  one  ?" 

Jed's  rensdgnemens  had  been  so  general,  and  so  quali 
fied  by  Eleanor's  involuntary  amendments  and  construc 
tions,  that  they  could  not  be  said  directly  to  oppose  the 
image  in  her  mind,  if  they  did  not  perfectly  conform  to  it. 
But  she  hesitated ;  she  could  not  yet  bring  herself  to  an 
open  admission  of  the  expectation  insinuated  by  Jed. 

"One  thing  I  forgot,"  continued  Jed — "his  age. 
When  he  makes  himself  up  to  please  a  young  lady,  I 
won't  undertake  to  say  what  he  may  pass  for.  But, 
havin'  no  partic'lar  reason  to  tickle  my  eye,  he  jest  look 
ed  his  rale  man ;  and  if  he's  a  day,  he  is  fifty." 

"  Fifty !  Oh,  dreadful !"  exclaimed  Eleanor.  "  Nev 
er,  never;  you're  dreaming." 

"  No,  Pin  not  a  dreamin' ;  I  won't  say  but  other  folks 
may  be.  Pray,  then,  miss,  how  old  do  you  ralely  ex 
pect  your  gentleman  to  be?" 


A  PEEP  AT  THE  PAST.  347 

"The  person,"  said  Eleanor,  hesitating — "the  person 
I  thought — I  supposed — you  might  mean,  is  not  more 
than  three  or  four  and  twenty." 

Jed  opened  his  eyes  and  gave  a  long,  low  whistle. 

"  Con-star-na-tion !"  he  exclaimed;  "well,  we've  miss 
ed  a  figure,  but  there's  time  to  set  it  right  yet.  Now,  an 
other  thing :  you  didn't  hear  nothin'  about  a  carriage  at 
a  sartin  place,  did  you?  and,  to  speak  right  out,  you 
didn't  agree  to  be  run  away  with,  did  you?" 

"Good  Heaven!"  cried  Eleanor,  scarcely  repressing 
a  scream.  "What  do  you  mean?  What  is  all  this? 
Who  are  you?  and  what  horrible  man  are  you  speak 
ing  of  ?" 

"Then  you  hadn't  no  notion  of  this?"  asked  Jed. 

"  No,  no,  no !  how  dare  you  think  it  ?  I  would  rather 
die.  Leave  me  this  moment!  You  are  a  bad  man, 
leagued  with  some  one  still  worse  to  entrap  me.  Go, 
go,  I  command  you !" 

"Don't  be  so  hasty,  my  dear  young  lady;  though  I 
can't  blame  you,  for  all.  Jest  hear  me.  I  see  into  it. 
Jest  as  I  partly  expected  afore.  'Tis  all  a  plot  of  that 
villain.  I  mistrusted  him  soon  as  I  see  him  the  second 
time.  Now  jest  be  quiet  and  hear  me,  and  I'll  make  it 
clear  as  print  to  you." 

Yielding  to  his  hearty  manner,  and  her  own  earnest 
desire  to  fathom  the  matter,  if  possible,  Eleanor  consent 
ed.  His  account  satisfied  her  of  his  honesty,  and  that, 
but  for  him,  her  imprudent  confidence  would  have  be 
trayed  her  into  a  very  unpleasant,  if  not  dangerous  ad 
venture.  But  the  question  still  returned,  who  was  this 
daring  and  impertinent  man  ?  Captain  Talbot  occurred 
to  her,  but  only  because,  at  the  moment,  she  could  think 
of  no  one  else.  The  idea  was  rejected  almost  as  soon  as 
conceived ;  for,  besides  that  he  was  gone,  and  that  he 
was  in  manners  and  conduct  above  suspicion,  he  was  far 


348  WALTER  THORNLEY;  OR, 

too  worldly-wise  thus  to  commit  himself.  After  revolv 
ing  in  her  mind  every  other  acquaintance,  a  certain  ec 
centric,  rich  old  bachelor — Baltus  Quitman  by  name — 
a  visitor  at  Rosenberg,  who  had  furnished  merriment  to 
herself  and  the  family  by  his  violent  admiration  of  her, 
appeared  the  least  improbable.  Jed's  description  was 
not  inapplicable,  except  that  he  had  exaggerated  his  age. 
She  recollected,  too,  her  grandfather's  saying,  "Take 
care,  Nelly !  Baltus  has  been  a  wild  dog  in  his  day. 
He'll  run  off  with  you,  if  he  can  get  you  in  no  other 
way ;  for  our  Dutch  blood,  when  it  does  stir,  stops  for 
nothing.  It  makes  pirates,  buccaneers,  patriots,  or  lov 
ers,  as  the  case  may  be."  The  suspicion  gained  con 
firmation  as  she  dwelt  on  it.  "Yes,  it  must  be  so! 
that  wild,  half-crazy  Quitman  must  be  the  man.  He 
must  have  seen  the  boat  land,  remained  on  the  watch, 
and  followed  in  the  obscurity  of  the  night  and  the 
storm.  Those  mysterious  footsteps!  that  spectral  fig 
ure  !  were  all  traceable  to  the  same  person ;"  and  she  al 
most  forgave  his  nefarious  purpose  when  thus  relieved 
of  her  superstitious  fears. 

"Well,  miss,"  said  Jed,  watching  her  anxious  face, 
"have  you  thought  it  out?" 

Unwilling  to  compromise  any  one  without  absolute 
certainty,  she  replied,  "  I  only  know  that  a  base  design 
has  been  formed  against  me,  and  that  you  have  prevent 
ed  it." 

She  drew  her  purse  from  her  pocket  as  she  spoke, 
and,  extending  it  to  him,  added,  "This  is  a  small  re 
quital,  but  I  shall  find  a  way  to  increase  it  if  you  will 
give  me  your  address." 

But  Jed,  putting  it  aside  with  a  proud,  but  good-na 
tured  smile,  said,  "Why,  now,  you  don't  suppose  I'm  a 
goin'  to  be  paid  for  not  bein'  a  rascal — you  don't! 
When  I  was  a  youngster,  my  granny  used  to  say,  '  Jed, 


A  PEEP  AT  THE   PAST.  349 

your  money  always  burns  in  your  pocket ;'  but,  land! 
I  guess  if  I  took  your'n,  'twould  burn  blue  as  brimstone. 
No,  miss ;  if  I've  done  you  a  sarvice,  I  hope  it  may  wipe 
out  some  of  my  shortcoming  to  other  folks.  And  now 
I  must  be  a  goin'." 

Eleanor  would  not  mortify  him  by  farther  pressing 
her  bounty,  but,  with  a  smile  that  Jed  thought  brighter 
than  gold,  she  said,  "  You  are  a  good,  generous  fellow ! 
You  must  come  and  see  my  parents  that  they  may 
thank  you  too.  But  how  can  you  get  down  ?  and  you 
lame  too  I  and  the  dog  ?" 

"Oh!  that  ain't  nothin'.  I've  scaled  worse  things 
than  that  'ere  outwork  under  your  window;  and  if  I 
got  up,  why,  I  can  get  down,  you  know.  As  to  the 
dog,  he  and  I's  friends,  and,  if  he  don't  remember  it,  I've 
a  bone  here  to  put  him  in  mind.  But,  dogs  or  no  dogs, 
you  see  I  set  myself  to  do  the  job  the  minute  he  spoke 
of  that  'ere  carriage ;  I  smelt  a  rat  then,  I  tell  you." 

Turning  the  same  comical  squint  at  the  pistol,  as  he 
saw  her  putting  it  cautiously  on  the  table,  he  said,  "  You 
needn't  be  so  dreadful  car'ful  about  that  'ere.  It  can't 
do  nothin'." 

"  Nothing !  when  it  is  loaded !  What  do  you  mean  ? 
You  were — " 

"Yes,  yes,"  said  he,  interrupting  her  quickly,  "I 
know  what  you're  goin'  to  say.  I  did  seem  afeard  on't 
myself;  but  that  was  only  jest  to  keep  up  your  sperrits. 
You  see,  when  I  got  in  here,  and  found  all  dark,  I  did 
what  I  always  do,  struck  a  light — I  always  keep  a  box 
by  me.  Whenever  I  pass  the  enemies'  lines  I  look  out, 
I  tell  you !  So  the  first  thing  I  see  here  was  this  'ere 
pistol,  ready  for  action.  I  hadn't  forgot  the  angry  old 
gentleman  I  see  in  the  a'ternoon,  nor  how  he  warned  me 
off  the  place.  And,  thinks  I,  better  keep  fire-arms  out 
of  the  way  of  a  wrathy  man.  So  I  drawed  its  teeth. 


350  WALTER  THORNLEY;  OR, 

But  seein'  what  a  comfort  'twas  to  you,  and  how  beauti 
ful  you  looked  a  p'intin'  it  at  me,  thinkin'  to  shoot  me 
any  minute  you'd  a  mind  to,  I  hadn't  the  heart  to  disap- 
p'int  you." 

Approaching  the  window,  he  again  stopped. 

"  I  must  make  bold,  miss,  to  give  you  a  bit  of  advice. 
Don't  you  be  goin'  outside  your  bounds  here,  at  no  time, 
day  nor  night ;  that  is,  not  alone.  I  wouldn't  trust  that 
'ere  man  more  than  the  Evil  One ;  jest  you  keep  close,  I 
say.  Well,  I  believe  all's  settled  now,  so  good-by,  my 
pretty  miss.  If  ever  you'll  think  of  Jed  Cooley,  the  old 
Continental,  that's  the  best  reward  he'll  ax;  and  one 
thing  more — no  offense,  by  no  means — but  I  should  like 
to  know  how  to  call  you." 

Eleanor  smiled  and  gave  him  her  name. 

"It's  a  kind  of  a  new  one  to  me,  would  you  be  so 
good  as  to  write  it  in  this  here  pocket-book  for  me  ?" 

She  did  so,  with  the  address  of  her  parents,  saying,  as 
she  returned  it,  "You  are  a  great  traveler,  and  your 
next  expedition  must  be  to  that  place.  I  am  sure," 
continued  she  with  warmth,  "that  you  are  an  honest 
man ;  I  shall  never  forget  you ;  and  in  some  better  way 
I  hope  to  show  my  gratitude." 

With  a  profound  bow,  and  "I  thank  you  heartily, 
miss,"  Jed  made  his  exit,  and,  slipping  down  from  the 
corner  of  the  af-dcik,  his  stealthy  tread  was  heard  by 
Eleanor  as  he  wound  round  the  house.  Brag  approach 
ed  to  challenge,  but  a  hand  and  a  mutton-bone  met  him. 
He  inquired  no  farther,  and  Jed  pursued  his  way  un 
molested. 


A  PEEP  AT  THE  PAST.  351 


CHAPTER  XXXIII. 

THE  next  evening,  at  the  appointed  time,  Jed  took  up 
his  line  of  march  to  the  place  of  rendezvous  with  his 
unknown  employer.  It  may  be  questioned  why,  having 
broken  his  engagement  in  the  spirit,  he  should  keep  it  to 
the  letter,  exposing  himself  to  a  collision  with  an  angry 
man.  'But  fear  was  not  in  Jed's  vocabulary,- and  he  had 
two  motives  for  keeping  his  appointment.  First,  to  as- 
certain  if,  perchance,  he  might  discover  the  farther  plans 
of  the  gentleman,  and,  next,  to  enjoy  his  present  dis 
comfiture. 

Striking  along  the  fence  which  inclosed  the  grounds 
of  Rosenberg,  he  crossed  a  road,  and  struck  into  a  dense 
wood,  where  he  soon  encountered  the  person  he  expect 
ed  to  find,  wrapped,  as  usual,  and  his  face  sheltered  un 
der  a  deeply-impending  hat. 

"  You  are  just  in  time,"  said  he,  approvingly. 

"  Yes;  I  always  calculate  to  be  about  right." 

" Have  you  seen  any  one?"  he  asked. 

"  Not  a  livin'  cre'ter ;  and  it's  so  light  outside  of  this 
'ere  wood,  that  you  might  pick  up  pins,  so  I  couldn't 
miss  seein'  on  'em.  Pleasant  night,  isn't  it?" 

The  gentleman  did  not  respond.  It  seemed  that  his 
own  thoughts  were  sufficient  for  him,  and  he  walked  to 
and  fro,  without  encouraging  conversation.  But  this  did 
not  suit  Jed's  taste,  and  he  was  resolved,  if  he  could  not 
draw  him  out,  he  would  talk  at  him. 

"  A  rale  pretty  night  it  is !  I  do  believe  I  could  read 
printin'  as  well  as  by  daylight;  but  that's  not  sayin' 
much,  for  I've  rayther  neglected  my  edication.  Some- 


352  WALTER  THORNLEY;  OR, 

how,  though,  such  nights  make  me  feel  queer — super- 
stitious-like ;  don't  you  feel  shaky  ?" 

"No." 

"  Well,  folks  is  different.  Now,  it  seems  to  me,  when 
all  creation  is  so  still  and  clear,  as  if  nothin'  couldn't  be 
hid.  As  if  every  wicked  thing  men  was  a  doin'  must 
sartin  be  seen.  So,  if  I  was  a  goin'  to  rob,  or  murder,  or 
do  any  thing  unlawful,  I  couldn't  never  do  it  such  a 
night  as  this.  I  should  want  a  thund'rin'  noise  about 
me,  winds  blowin'  like  mad,  trees  a  crackin',  and  clouds 
a  driftin',  as  if  witches  was  ridin'  on  'em.  No  beautiful 
shinin'  moonlight  like  this  'ere !" 

"I  thought  you  had  been  a  soldier,"  said  the  gentle 
man,  coolly. 

"Guess  I  have!  Seen  hot  sarvice  too;  but  there's 
harder  things  than  cannon  balls,  I  tell  you!  A  man 
can  face  them,  when  a  little  trip-hammer  inside  of  him 
will  knock  him  flat." 

"  My  friend,"  said  the  gentleman,  with  a  dash  of  sar 
casm  in  his  manner,  "  you  have  been  a  Methodist  preach 
er,  I  perceive,  and  probably  much  greater  at  a  field- 
preaching  than  in  any  other  field ;  but  I'll  dispense  with 
your  exhortations  at  present.  By  the  way,  you  told  me 
your  name,  but  not  your  residence.  Where  do  you 
live?" 

Jed,  nettled  at  the  insinuation  of  Methodism,  and  not 
forgetting  how  close  the  gentleman  had  been  of  his  own 
name,  answered,  dryly,  "  Why,  all  about.  At  this  pres 
ent  time  I  live  here" 

"Yes;  but  when  you  are  at  home,  where  do  you 
live?" 

"  Oh,  then  I  live  there." 

The  stranger  hesitated  a  moment,  as  if  uncertain 
whether  it  were  best  to  resent  or  to  be  amused  at  the 
evasion ;  he  chose  the  latter. 


A   PEEP   AT  THE   PAST.  353 

"You  are  a  queer  fellow,"  said  he,  and  resumed  his 
walk  of  observation,  while  Jed  seated  himself  on  the 
trunk  of  a  large  tree  that  had  been  felled  hard  by.  A 
flood  of  moonlight  poured  in  through  the  opening, 
thus  throwing  the  wood  and  the  stranger  into  a  deeper 
gloom. 

"  Ay,"  thought  Jed,  "  there  he  tramps  back  and  forth, 
for  all  the  world  like  a  wicked  sperrit.  Darkness  suits 
him  better  than  light.  The  villainous  old  wolf!  to 
think  of  his  devourin'  that  pretty  lamb !  There  he  goes, 
a  prowlin'  round,  like  Satan  tryin'  to  coax  Eve  out  of 
the  garding." 

While  Jed  thus  communed  with  himself,  his  com 
panion  kept  up  his  walk.  At  length  he  stopped,  and, 
in  a  voice  indicative  of  growing  impatience,  said,  "  'Tis 
long  past  the  time;  what  can  detain  her?" 

"  Perhaps  she's  forgot,"  suggested  Jed,  with  provok 
ing  indifference,  and  rapping  a  careless  tattoo  with  his 
staff  on  the  log  on  which  he  sat. 

The  gentleman,  either  disdaining,  or  unable  to  reply, 
suffered  the  offensive  suggestion  to  pass. 

At  this  moment  approaching  steps  were  heard. 

"  She  comes !"  said  he,  in  a  whisper;  Jed  only  whistled. 

The  sounds  passed  away. 

"Might  a  know'd,"  said  Jed,  "  that  wa'n't  her;  only 
folks  on  the  road  goin7  to  the  ferry.  When  she  does 
come  1  I  guess  we  sha'n't  hear  nothin'." 

"Not  hear!     Why  not?" 

"  Oh,  I'd'n'know,"  replied  Jed,  again  rapping  on  the 
log ;  "  only  her  steps  fall  like  a  feather." 

"  Don't  keep  up  that  infernal  rapping ;  of  course  we 
can't  hear  while  you  do." 

Jed  ceased. 

u  Always  willin'  to  accommodate;"  then,  appearing  to 
listen,  added,  "If  she  does  not  come — " 


354  WALTER  THORNLEY;  OK, 

11  Not  come!"  interrupted  the  gentleman,  angrily; 
"  why  should  she  not  come?" 

"  How  can  I  tell  ?  Maybe  she  will,  maybe  she  won't : 
women  ain't  never  to  be  depended  on — that's  my  expe- 
r'ence.  But  I  was  goin'  to  say,  if  she  does  not  come, 
why  then  what  next?" 

But  Jed  was  disappointed ;  the  gentleman  was  in  no 
mood  to  form  or  to  disclose  farther  plans.  On  the  con 
trary,  he  said,  impatient  of  Jed's  nonchalance,  "  You 
are  much  at  your  ease,  I  think." 

"  Sartin — why  not?  I'm  not  doin'  nothin'  I'm  ashamed 
of;  be  you?" 

The  gentleman  was  perplexed ;  he  did  not  quite  com 
prehend  his  coadjutor ;  but  he  had  trusted  too  far  to  re 
cede,  and  he  suppressed  an  angry  reply.  Taking  out 
his  watch,  and  coming  still  more  into  the  light,  his  face 
was  clearly  discernible  with  its  dark  and  stormy  expres 
sion. 

"'Tis  nearly  ten,"  he  said,  fixing  his  eyes  on  Jed, 
who  returned  the  glance  without  flinching,  but,  at  the 
same  time,  rose  and  faced  him  with  rather  an  air  of  de 
fiance. 

"  'Tis  nearly  ten,"  he  again  said,  after  some  deliber 
ation,  "and  yet  she  does  not  come." 

"No,  that's  pretty  sartin;  and  I've  an  idee  that  she 
won't." 

The  manner,  more  than  the  words,  brought  things  to 
an  issue.  In  a  voice  that  trembled  with  passion,  the 
stranger  burst  forth : 

"  I  trusted  to  your  word,  but  more  to  my  money.  I 
suspect  you  have  broken  the  one,  though  you  pocketed 
the  other." 

"You  do!"  said  Jed,  with  a  mocking,  leisurely  em 
phasis  that,  while  it  confirmed  his  suspicions,  roused  the 
gentleman  to  fury. 


A  PEEP  AT  THE   PAST.  355 

Regardless  of  consequences,  he  elevated  his  cane  and 
aimed  a  blow  which,  had  it  fallen  as  intended,  would 
have  told  on  Jed's  pate ;  but  he,  perfectly  cool,  with  a 
twirl  of  his  stout  bludgeon  twisted  the  cane  out  of  the 
hand  of  his  antagonist,  and,  catching  it  in  its  descent  a 
few  paces  from  him,  stood  master  of  both  weapons,  while 
the  stranger,  in  impotent  rage,  shook  his  fist,  and  vent 
ed  in  imprecations  what  he  had  no  means  to  enforce 
more  effectually.  When  he  paused,  as  if  for  breath,  Jed 
spoke : 

"  Now,  I  guess,  you've  done,  and  I'll  have  a  word. 
First,  you'll  please  to  larn  that  no  man  lays  a  cane  on 
Jed  Cooley ;  and,  next,  I  have  to  tell  you  that,  if  I  sarved 
you  right,  I'd  fling  your  money  in  your  face.  But  I 
won't,  though.  I  'arned  it  honestly,  doin'  your  arr'nd ; 
I  can't  afford  to  work  for  nothin'  and  find  myself.  But 
you'll  please  to  remember  that,  as  soon  as  I  see  your 
cloven  foot,  I  didn't  touch  no  more  of  your  silver.  So 
much  for  myself;  and — " 

The  gentleman  was  about  to  speak,  but  Jed  cut  in  im 
periously  : 

"  Stop !  I  a'n't  done  yet.  And  now,  sir,  you'll  take 
notice,  she — is — not — a  comirf ;  not  to-night  nor  never! 
She's  found  you  out,  and  so  you'd  best  strike  your  tents 
and  march  away,  and  I'll  furnish  the  music."  So  say 
ing,  he  broke,  with  a  clear  whistle,  into  the  "Rogue's 
March." 

The  rage  of  the  disappointed  and  insulted  man  may 
be  imagined.  In  sentences  incoherent  from  passion,  he 
applied  to  Jed  epithets  which,  perhaps,  relieved  himself, 
but  no  way  ruffled  his  imperturbable  foe,  who,  well  sat 
isfied  to  have  a  clear  understanding  with  him,  felt,  as  he 
would  have  said,  "very  fine." 

Raising  the  cane  he  had  secured,  and  giving  it  an  im 
pulse  that  carried  it  into  the  depths  of  the  wood,  he  said, 


356  WALTER  THORNLEY;  OR, 

"  There !  /don't  want  it,  and,  jest  at  this  partic'lar  time, 
you  can  do  without  it.  You  won't  have  nothin'  to  do 
to-morrow ;  no  young  ladies  to  smuggle  into  carriages 
and  carry  off  agin  their  will ;  and  then  you  can  look 
for't.  So  good-night  to  you,  sir ;"  and  with  a  snatch  of 
Eevolutionary  doggerel — 

"  Says  General  Lee  to  General  Howe, 
What  do  you  think  of  the  Yankees  now  T' 

he  passed  into  the  road,  and  was  soon  out  of  sight. 

Meanwhile,  Eleanor,  at  this  juncture,  in  which  her 
own  fate  might  have  been  involved,  reflected,  in  the  se 
curity  of  her  room,  on  her  escape. 

Of  the  actual  world  she  knew  little.  She  had  seen  it 
chiefly  as  reflected  in  the  mirror  of  fiction,  and  natural 
ly  reasoned  from  this  to  her  own  case.  While  she  had 
no  alarm  for  the  future,  believing  herself  safe  in  observ 
ing  the  caution  given  her,  she  dwelt  upon  the  danger  to 
which  she  had  been  exposed. 

"  Yes,"  thought  she,  "  who  can  tell  what  might  have 
befallen  me  ?  In  the  power  of  a  wicked  man,  who,  by 
working  on  my  fears  or  my  compassion,  or  by  alarms 
for  my  reputation,  might  have  frightened  or  forced  me 
into  a  marriage !  Just  so  did  that  insinuating  Sir  Clem 
ent  attempt  to  carry  off  Evelina ;  and  just  so,  and  worse, 
did  that  hateful  Bellamy  compel  poor  Eugenia  to  marry 
him."  But  in  proportion  as  imagination  pictured  her 
danger,  her  better  sense  and  her  conscience  represented 
her  own  folly,  the  sole  cause  of  it.  This  once  admitted, 
she  was  too  honest  to  deceive  herself.  Keverting  to  the 
meeting  with  Walter,  she  recalled,  with  confusion,  her 
undisguised  pleasure — an  excitement  that  inevitably  had 
betrayed  a  sentiment  she  was  bound  to  repress,  and  her 
consequent  failure  of  filial  duty.  She  reflected  that 
Walter  must  himself  have  condemned  the  weakness, 
pardonable  in  a  child,  but  reprehensible  at  her  present 


A  PEEP  AT  THE   PAST.  357 

age.  Then  how  had  she  yielded  to,  how  had  she  en 
couraged,  feelings  thus  strongly  revived !  Alas !  alas ! 
how  nearly  had  she  been  the  dupe  of  her  own  foolish 
presumption !  "Oh !"  thought  she,  "if  we  ever  meet 
again,  he  shall  respect  me,  though  he  must  not  love  me!" 

Going  to  her  open  window,  where  the  ripple  of  the 
rising  tide  sent  up  through  the  still  air  a  faint  murmur, 
as  it  coquetted  with  the  shore,  advancing,  receding,  yet 
always  gaining,  she  impatiently  wished  that  affections 
could  be  governed  by  laws  as  irresistible.  But  wiser 
thoughts  prevailed,  and  her  mind  turned  to  that  "  high 
er  law,"  that  beautiful  chain  of  dependences  by  which 
God  unites  his  rational  creatures,  making  the  least  often 
the  benefactors  of  the  greatest.  "Ah!"  thought  she, 
"but  for  that  poor  lame  peddler,  where  might  I  have 
been  at  this  moment?" 

She  closed  the  window,  then  fell  on  her  knees  con 
trite,  grateful,  and  submissive,  and  rose  with  new  pur 
poses  of  duty.  Thus  tranquilized,  she  sought  her  pil 
low,  and  a  night  succeeded  not  like  those  of  late, 

"From  which  the  silken  sleep  was  fretted  out;" 

but  as  if 

"Angels  made 
A  place  beside  her." 

From  such  sweet  rest  she  was  roused  in  the  morning  by 
the  gentle  voice  of  her  aunt,  who  entered  with  letters — 
one  to  Eleanor  from  her  mother,  authorizing  and  urging 
her  return  home.  The  year  exacted  by  her  grandfather 
had  expired,  and  her  parents  could  no  longer  live  with 
out  her.  This  was  just  what  she  would  have  asked,  and 
the  delicacy  which  feared  to  wound  her  aunt  by  a  pleas 
ure  too  manifest,  was  relieved  by  Miss  Lawrence  saying, 
as  she  held  up  an  open  letter  she  had  just  read,  "Now, 
Eleanor,  hear  mine." 

It  was  also  from  Mrs.  Meredith — an  earnest  request 


358  WALTER  THORNLEY;  OR, 

that  her  father  and  sister  would  accompany  Eleanor,  and 
without  delay.  The  reason  for  this  dispatch  was,  that 
Mr.  Lawrence  should  consult  an  eminent  English  ocu 
list,  lately  arrived,  and  soon  to  leave  the  city.  There 
was,  therefore,  no  time  to  lose.  The  case  of  her  father 
had  been  mentioned  to  him,  and,  considering  his  vigor 
and  constitution,  he  had  little  doubt  of  a  cure. 

Eleanor  clapped  her  hands,  and  Miss  Gertrude  evi 
dently  favored  the  proposition;  but  the  decision,  of 
course,  rested  with  her  father.  For  this  the  ladies  must 
wait  till  after  breakfast,  no  one  ever  venturing  to  bring 
any  matter  before  him  till  that  meal  had  prepared  the 
way. 

The  morning  was  beautiful,  the  breakfast  excellent. 
He  heard,  he  smiled,  he  assented,  and  straightway  the 
house  was  astir.  First  Pomp  was  sent  in  hot  haste  to 
ascertain  when  Captain  Ostrander  would  sail ;  Mr.  Law 
rence  would  go  with  no  other ;  then  with  orders  to  se 
cure  the  entire  after-cabin.  Then  a  council  was  call 
ed  with  Mrs.  Dorothy  and  Aunt  Flore  as  to  certain 
household  arrangements.  Then  Pomp's  wardrobe  was 
to  be  put  in  proper  order  to  attend  his  master,  to  his 
unspeakable  pride  and  delight.  As  to  Mr.  Lawrence 
himself,  when  asked  for  his  commands,  he  only  answer 
ed,  "  A  gentleman  is  always  ready.  If  my  clothes  are 
good  enough  for  myself,  they  are  good  enough  for  my 
company." 


A  PEEP  AT  THE   PAST.  359 


CHAPTER  XXXIV. 

PKISCILLA'S  attendance  on  Mr.  Lawrence  had  contin 
ued  with  few  intermissions  since  it  was  first  required; 
for,  though  his  displeasure  against  Eleanor  had  nearly 
worn  itself  out,  and  was  no  longer  manifested,  he  evi 
dently  found  a  satisfaction  in  the  quiet  little  Quaker,  and 
a  pleasure  in  the  free  appropriation  of  her  time,  which 
he  did  not  choose  to  relinquish.  She  came,  therefore, 
as  usual,  and  with  the  same  persistency  saw  only  Mr. 
Lawrence.  Eleanor,  at  first  really  wishing  to  establish 
a  friendly  relation  with  her,  had  made  frequent  attempts 
to  meet  and  to  detain  her,  but  in  vain.  A  quiet  "fare 
well"  was  all  she  could  obtain ;  till,  half  vexed  at  what 
she  considered  an  ungracious  return  to  her  advances,  she 
gave  the  matter  up. 

The  morning  after  the  decision  in  favor  of  the  New 
York  visit,  Mr.  Lawrence  returned  from  a  ride  to  inspect 
some  work  he  had  in  hand  with  a  ruffled  look,  that  in 
dicated  either  that  it  had  not  prospered,  or  that  some 
thing  else  was  wrong.  Going  to  his  own  room,  he  gave 
orders  that  when  Priscilla  came  no  one  should  disturb 
him. 

On  entering,  he  found  Philip  awaiting  his  return  for 
directions  in  regard  to  improvements  to  be  made  in  his 
grandfather's  absence.  The  business  settled,  he  stood 
looking  from  a  window  commanding  the  walk  by  which 
Priscilla  would  approach.  It  was  not  long  before  she 
appeared. 

"  Your  reader  is  coming,  sir,"  said  he. 

u  Yery  well ;  then  you  may  go." 

There  was  nothing  in  the  words,  but  they  were  accom- 


360 

panied  by  a  look  and  emphasis  that  gave  them  signifi 
cance,  and  Philip  was  seized  with  a  temptation  that  had 
more  than  once  beset  him — a  desire  to  hear  what  passed 
on  these  occasions. 

At  this  moment  it  was  stronger  than  ever,  and  the  fa 
cility  with  which  it  might  be  accomplished  rendered  it 
•unconquerable.  The  head  of  the  high,  old-fashioned 
bedstead,  surrounded  by  fall  heavy  curtains,  was  near 
the  door  by  which  the  room  was  entered,  and,  to  guard 
against  a  draught,  there  was  a  large  folding  screen  reach 
ing  nearly  to  the  ceiling.  This  was  so  placed  between 
the  bed  and  the  door  as  to  admit  of  a  person  being  con 
cealed  by  it  from  any  one  entering  the  room,  while  the 
curtains  furnished  an  equal  protection  from  those  with 
in  it. 

Apparently  obeying  his  grandfather,  Philip  passed 
round  the  screen,  opened  the  door,  and,  closing  it  again, 
slipped  noiselessly  between  the  screen  and  the  bed — 
awaiting,  with  breathless  interest,  the  interview.  The 
approaching  footsteps  of  Priscilla  in  the  hall  would  have 
prevented  Mr.  Lawrence  detecting  that  none  had  passed 
from  his  door,  had  a  suspicion  been  awakened.  But  it 
was  not,  and  the  entrance  of  Priscilla  led  to  their  usual 
occupation. 

Motioning  to  a  chair  near  him,  "  Here  is  the  paper, 
child,"  said  he ;  "  we  will  take  that  first." 

This  being  "read  and  marked,"  though  perhaps  not 
as  "  inwardly  digested"  as  usual,  Priscilla  was  laying  it 
aside,  when  a  paragraph  unnoticed  before  caught  her 
eye,  and  she  read  aloud  the  heading — "A  Domestic 
Tragedy."  "  Shall  I  read  it  ?"  she  asked. 

"  Certainly.     Go  on." 

It  recorded  the  death  of  a  young  girl  in  New  York, 
under  circumstances  of  peculiar  interest.  She  had  been 
addressed  by  a  youth  of  superior  fortune  and  condition, 


A  PEEP  AT  THE  PAST.  361 

who  had  secured  her  affection ;  but  his  father  had  for 
bidden  the  marriage  in  terms  so  offensive  and  injurious 
to  her,  that  self-respect  had  silenced  love,  and  she  had 
broken  off  all  intercourse  with  his  son.  He,  in  despair, 
had  fallen  into  intemperate  habits,  and  had  met  a  violent 
death  in  a  street  brawl;  at  which  she,  struck  to  the 
heart,  and  reproaching  herself  as  the  cause,  lost  her 
senses  and  died  miserably. 

Priscilla's  voice  faltered  as  she  read,  and  Mr.  Law 
rence,  as  she  concluded,  said,  "  Poor  girl !  I  think  I  know 
that  man;  not  personally,  but  by  name  and  character. 
He  was  a  hard  man.  'Tis  all  true,  I  am  afraid." 

Priscilla,  having  often  been  encouraged  by  Mr.  Law 
rence  to  express  her  opinion  of  what  was  read,  ventured 
to  say,  "  It  seemeth  to  me  that  of  the  three  she  hath  the 
least  need  of  pity ;  the  father  the  most,  for  he  was  the 
oppressor.  She,  and  he  whom  she  loved,  have  gone  to 
a  more  merciful  parent.  He  remaineth  alone  with  his 
remorse." 

The  solemnity  of  her  voice  and  words,  instead  of  rous 
ing  a  spirit  of  contradiction,  affected  him. 

"  Yery  true,  child ;  very  true.  But  don't  you  think 
she,  too,  had  some  cause  for  remorse  ?" 

"  Nay,  not  remorse ;  perhaps  for  regret,  on  account  of 
human  weakness,  inasmuch  as  it  may  be  that  she  had 
spoken  unadvisedly  with  her  lips,  and  had  given  place 
to  wrath.  If  so,  it  was  the  word,  not  the  deed,  of  which 
she  had  need  to  repent,  for  is  it  not  manifest  there  re 
mained  nothing  else  for  her  to  do  ?" 

Mr.  Lawrence  was  silent,  but  after  a  long  look  into 
her  face,  which  was  calmly  and  fearlessly  turned  toward 
him,  he  replied,  by  asking,  emphatically,  "  What  would 
you  have  done?  You  do  not  speak.  I  will  tell  you. 
You,  a  cool,  discreet,  wise  little  Quaker  as  you  are,  would 
have  taken  the  bit  between  your  teeth  if  you  had  been 

Q 


362 

thus  used,  and  would  have  married  the  son  in  spite  of 
his  father ;  and,  as  it  turned  out,  I  must  say,  have  done 
rightly." 

Priscilla's  color  rose,  her  lips  moved,  as  if  to  speak, 
but  she  was  silent.  After  a  moment's  pause,  she  shook 
her  head,  and  repeated,  "Kightly!  Men  often  judge 
righteous  judgment  in  the  case  of  others.  But  right  or 
not,  so  I  would  not  have  done." 

Then  proceeding,  with  a  kindling  eye  but  a  firm  tone, 
she  said,  "  I  am  one  in  humble  condition,  without  any 
of  this  world's  riches.  I  could  bring  no  dowry  but  an 
honest  name.  But,  though  I  render  not  worship  to 
titles,  nor  to  rank,  nor  to  great  estate,  I  would  enter  no 
man's  family  unbidden  and  unwelcome.  I  ought  not 
to  esteem  him  higher  for  the  things  that  perish;  nei 
ther  may  I,  by  a  mean  action,  sink  lower  than  heaven 
hath  placed  me.  I  have  not  been  taught  to  take  the 
height  of  others  as  the  rule  -by  which  to  measure  myself 
or  my  duty." 

Her  manner  seemed  to  have  a  magnetic  influence  on 
Mr.  Lawrence.  Accustomed,  as  he  had  been,  to  implicit 
obedience — unfortunate  for  himself  as  for  others — impa 
tient  of  the  least  contrariety,  even  in  opinion,  yet  when 
she  presumed  to  utter  a  displeasing  truth,  she  acted  on 
him  as  a  sedative.  He  could  as  soon  have  directed  a 
burst  of  anger  against  a  statue,  as  against  her  impassive 
calmness. 

He  looked  at  her  fixedly,  as  if  endeavoring  to  read 
her  thoughts. 

"  Priscilla,"  said  he,  at  length,  "  you  know  a  person  by 
the  name  of  Joel  Parkinson." 

"I  do." 

"He  has  been  a  lover  of  yours." 

"  He  has  sought  me  in  marriage." 

"  And  you  have  refused  him,  though  he  appears  an 
eligible  connection." 


A  PEEP  AT  THE   PAST.  363 

"  My  heart  did  not  incline  to  him." 

"  He  is  an  industrious,  respectable  young  man ;  well- 
looking,  and  well-behaved." 

"  I  do  not  deny  it." 

"  He  will,  to  be  sure,  have  to  work  pretty  hard  a  few 
years,  and  you  would  be  obliged  to  make  exertions 
greater  than  in  your  father's  house ;  but,  he  will  be  a 
prosperous  man;  he  has  all  the  necessary  qualifications." 

"  I  doubt  it  not." 

"Priscilla,  you  have  been  much  in  my  family;  were 
born  under  my  roof;  your  mother  was  an  excellent 
woman ;  you  have  conducted  yourself  well,  and  have 
rendered  me  kind  and  willing  service,  so  that  I  feel  in 
terested  in  your  welfare.  If  you  will  consent  to  marry 
this  young  man,  who  seems  truly  attached  to  you,  I  will 
befriend  him  in  the  way  of  business,  and  your  marriage 
portion  shall  be  five  hundred  dollars." 

Priscilla's  face  betrayed  that  she  was  moved.  She 
did  not  attempt  to  speak  for  a  moment,  then,  in  a  clear 
voice,  but  not  without  effort,  she  said,  "  Thou  art  too 
generous !  I  thank  thee.  May  God  be  good  unto  thee, 
as  thou  hast  been  to  me  and  mine!  But  I  may  not 
profit  by  thine  offer.  I  do  not  love  the  man." 

"Love  begets  love,"  persisted  Mr.  Lawrence.  "Be 
sides,  prudence  as  well  as  affection  is  to  be  considered 
in  these  things.  It  is  safer  for  you,  Priscilla,"  continued 
he,  with  an  earnest  look,  "far  safer  to  have  the  protec 
tion  of  a  husband.  You  are  young  and  handsome. 
Some  one  may  regard  you  with  a  love  not  as  honest  as 
poor  Joel's.  Be  wise  in  time." 

Her  blushing  cheek  showed  that  she  felt,  as  well  as 
understood  the  insinuation ;  but  she 

"  Answer' d  nothing,  save  with  her  brown  eyes." 

Her  evident  distress  affected  Mr.  Lawrence,  and,  in  a 
tone  grave,  but  not  stern,  he  proceeded : 


364  WALTER  THORNLEY;  OR, 

"  Priscilla !  Joel  tells  me  that  lie  fears  you  love  anoth 
er — that  you  are  ambitious.  If  this  be  so,  hear  me. 
He  to  whom  you  have  raised  your  hopes  can  not  marry 
you.  He  may  love  you — our  affections  are  often  not 
in  our  own  keeping ;  but  sorrow,  if  nothing  worse,  can 
only  attend  such  an  attachment.  I  wish  to  shield  you 
from  all  harm,  and  see  you  the  happy  and  respectable 
wife  of  an  honest  man." 

Like  all  strong  natures,  which,  when  they  do  yield, 
pour  themselves  forth  without  reserve,  Priscilla's  burst 
through  its  accustomed  restraint.  She  sat,  for  a  mo 
ment,  with  hands  clasped,  with  an  upcast  look,  as  if  ask 
ing  direction,  and  then,  suddenly  turning  to  Mr.  Law 
rence,  she  exclaimed,  "  Thou  shalt  know  all !  Thou  art 
merciful  and  just.  I  have  loved  thy  grandson!  but, 
were  he  now  to  offer  me  marriage,  I  should  reject  it. 
I  do  not  ask  thy  forgiveness.  I  have  never,  even  in 
thought,  sinned  against  thee ;  but  I  do  entreat  that  thou 
wilt  trust  me,  for  thine  own  peace,  as  well  as  for  my 
honor." 

Her  face  beaming  with  expression,  her  hands  pressed 
convulsively  to  her  breast,  her  voice  full  of  power,  her 
earnest  words,  altogether  so  touched  Mr.  Lawrence,  that 
he  could  only  gaze  on  her  with  pity  and  admiration ! 
When,  as  if  dropped  from  the  clouds  or  sprung  from  the 
earth — so  noiseless  and  sudden  his  appearance — Philip 
was  kneeling  before  him ! 

"  Hear  me,  sir !"  he  exclaimed.  "  She  has  not  told  you 
all.  Oh,  let  me  do  her  the  justice  she  has  not  rendered 
to  herself!" 

But  the  anger  that  Priscilla  had  disarmed  now  found 
an  object.  The  fluid,  innoxious  to  her,  burst  upon  Phil 
ip's  devoted  head. 

"  Eise,  sir,"  said  Mr.  Lawrence.  "  Do  not  farther  dis 
grace  yourself  by  adding  to  the  deceptions  already  prac- 


A  PEEP  AT  THE  PAST.  365 

ticed  upon  me.  I  am  not  the  blind,  easy  man,  under 
whose  very  roof  you  have  hoped  to  carry  out  your  de 
signs.  I  do  not  blame  this  unfortunate  girl ;  her  affec 
tion  has  made  her  a  mere  instrument  in  your  hands." 

Eising  from  his  suppliant  attitude,  his  face  flushed, 
and  trembling  with  emotion,  Philip  exclaimed,  "I  should 
be  unworthy  of  your  blood  if  I  could  hear  such  language 
unmoved.  Listen  to  me,  sir ;  I  do  not  now  ask  it  as  a 
favor ;  I  claim  it  as  a  right.  I  do  not  deserve  the  im 
putation  you  cast  on  me.  I  did  not  practice  on  you,  as 
you  suppose,  by  the  introduction  of  Priscilla  into  your 
house.  It  was  your  own  act.  So  far  from  being  done 
to  further  our  intercourse,  we  have  never  met  till  this 
moment  under  this  roof  since  the  day  she  came  at  your 
own  request." 

Mr.  Lawrence  looked  at  Priscilla,  who,  at  Philip's  ap 
pearance,  had  retreated,  and  now  sat,  pale  as  marble, 
like  one  stunned,  in  the  first  chair  into  which  she  could 
drop. 

"Is  this  true?"  asked  Mr.  Lawrence. 

She  bowed  her  head,  and  scarcely  articulated,  "  It  is." 

"I  must  and  will  speak  farther,"  continued  Philip, 
with  passionate  earnestness,  "  We  were  allowed  to  grow 
up  together  from  children  without  counsel  or  check — 
with  no  guard  but  the  angel  who  has  watched  over  her 
innocence.  Look  at  her,  sir !  Is  it  strange  that  I  should 
love  her  ?  I  solemnly  declare  that,  if  I  have  been  pre 
served  from  the  vices  and  follies  of  other  young  men, 
you  owe  it  to  that  girl— to  her  image  in  my  heart,  and 
her  influence  on  my  mind.  Yet  was  I  coward  and  base 
enough  to  dread  your  displeasure  more  than  her  injury 
— to  seek  to  obtain  unworthily  what  I  dared  not  ask 
honorably.  But  she  cast  me  from  her,  as  I  deserved; 
and,  when  I  offered  reparation  for  the  insult,  she  would 
not  hear  me ;  she  would  condescend  to  no  clandestine 


366  WALTER  THORNLEY;  OR, 

proceeding.  I  was  denied  even  the  privilege  of  seeing 
or  speaking  to  her.  Then  it  was  that,  in  a  moment  of 
desperation,  I  tried  to  carry  out  your  wishes  in  regard  to 
my  cousin.  You  know  the  result.  This  moment  de 
cides  my  future.  I  conceal  nothing.  I  regret  to  disap 
point  and  displease  you,  sir :  you  have  a  right  to  every 
thing  but  my  honor.  By  that,  as  strongly  as  by  my 
love,  I  am  bound  to  Priscilla.  I  shall  seek  to  be  restored 
to  her  affection.  If  I  succeed,  disinherited  and  beggar 
ed,  I  shall  marry  her." 

Mr.  Lawrence  listened  without  an  attempt  to  inter 
rupt  him,  his  strong,  expressive  face  betraying  the  va 
rious  emotions  by  which  he  was  agitated ;  but,  as  Philip 
ceased,  he  broke  forth, 

"  By  Heaven,  you  shall  do  no  such  thing !  No  I  As 
the  heir  of  my  name  and  fortune,  you  shall  bestow  both 
on  a  girl  who  has  earned  them  so  nobly.  Come  hither, 
Priscilla!" 

Philip,  animated  with  newly-awakened  hopes,  darted 
forward  and  led  her  to  his  grandfather,  who,  seating  her 
by  his  side,  and  laying  his  hand  gently  on  her  head, 
said,  "  I  see  it  all,  my  child — your  temptations  and  your 
resistance,  your  trials  and  your  strength.  If  there  is 
blame,  it  attaches  to  those  older  than  yourself,  who 
should  have  foreseen  consequences.  You  have  suffered 
enough  for  their  folly.  You  will  forgive  Phil?  Yes, 
yes ;  you  know,"  continued  he,  with  a  smile,  to  encour 
age  her — "you  know  you  are  a  Christian  maiden,  and 
must  act  consistently,  when  I,  not  half  so  good  as  you 
are,  set  you  the  example.  There !"  said  he,  joining  their 
hands,  while  his  voice  changed.  "  Now  go ;  you  can 
not  speak  freely  here,  and  I  am  better  alone  at  pres 
ent." 

Philip  grasped  his  grandfather's  hand,  and  could  just 
say,  "God forever  bless  you,  sir!"  and,  as  Mr.  Lawrence 


A  PEEP  AT  THE  PAST.  367 

extended  it  to  Priscilla,  she  pressed  it  to  her  lips  and 
heart,  but  utterance  she  had  none ;  then,  yielding  to  Phil 
ip,  who  tenderly  drew  her  arm  within  his  own,  they  left 
the  room. 

Mr.  Lawrence  sat  a  few  moments,  his  head  resting  on 
his  hand;  then,  rising  and  walking  to  the  window,  he 
said,  "Yes I  there  they  go;  thank  Heaven,  I  have  at 
least  made  them  happy !  My  pride  and  passion  have  for 
once  yielded.  Would  that  they  had  oftener  done  so !" 
Then,  pacing  his  room  for  some  time,  he  said,  "  Well, 
we  are  strange  creatures !  My  fondest  and,  apparently, 
wisest  plans  for  that  boy  have  been  thwarted;  my 
pride,  in  the  tenderest  point,  wounded;  my  hopes  of  a 
posterity,  of  blood  as  good  and  honorable  as  my  own, 
disappointed.  Instead  of  a  race  as  gentle  as  that  from 
which  I  descend,  there  will  be  an  infusion  of  little 
*  broad-brims/  and  '  the  Lawrence'  will  '  quarter'  with 
1  the  Dale.'  And  yet  I  am  happier  than  I  have  been 
these  twenty  years  1" 

As  may  be  inferred,  Priscilla  was  not  inexorable ;  and 
Philip  returned  to  dinner  so  radiant,  that  Eleanor,  who 
met  him  at  the  hall-door,  looked  at  him  suspiciously ; 
and,  shading  her  eyes  with  her  hand,  said,  "The  light 
of  your  face  blinds  me ;  I  might  as  well  gaze  at  the 
sun !  What  has  happened,  Cousin  Phil  ?" 

Without  answering,  except  by  a  smile,  he  drew  her 
aside,  and,  leading  her  into  the  garden,  unfolded  his  fe 
licity.  He  could  not  have  found  a  more  sympathizing 
auditor.  So  pleased  and  excited  was  she,  that,  when 
Mr.  Lawrence  entered  the  dining-room,  his  face  grave, 
but  kind,  recovering  all  her  former  familiarity  with  him, 
she  rushed  up  to  him,  and,  putting  her  arms  round  his 
neck,  exclaimed,  "  Dear  grandpapa,  I  must  kiss  you,  for 
you  are  the  very  best  grandfather  in  the  world!" 

He  was  evidently  pleased  with  this  spontaneous  testi- 


368  WALTER  THORNLEY ;   OR, 

mony  of  approval,  and  said,  affectionately,  "  Now  I  have 
only  you  to  care  for." 

"  Oh,  never  mind  me !     I'll—" 

"  Take  care  of  yourself,  I  dare  say,  as  Phil  has  done. 
Well,  it  must  be  confessed  that  the  present  generation 
spare  their  friends  a  deal  of  trouble,  by  so  readily  under 
taking  the  charge  of  themselves.  But  here's  the  din 
ner.  We'll  talk  farther  by-and-by." 

Mr.  Lawrence  having  desired  that  no  one  but  those 
immediately  interested  should  be  informed  of  the  occur 
rence  of  the  morning  till  his  return,  it  was  understood 
that  he  reserved  to  himself  the  making  it  public  in  his 
own  way. 

The  next  morning,  at  the  usual  hour,  Priscilla  appear 
ed  ;  but,  instead  of  being  conducted  to  Mr.  Lawrence, 
was  taken  to  Miss  Gertrude's  room,  where  an  affection 
ate  greeting  awaited  her. 

Eleanor  gazed  on  her  with  surprise  and  admiration. 
"What  a  resurrection!"  she  thought.  "That  face  is 
now  really  alive,  which,  if  I  had  not  heard  of  Pygma 
lion  and  his  statue,  I  should  have  doubted  that  it  could 
inspire  love.  A  real,  live  tear  trembles  in  those  beauti 
ful  eyes,  and  that  mantling  color  betrays  that  she  is  ac 
tually  flesh  and  blood  I  She  speaks  1  she  smiles !  And 
Aunt  Gertrude  too!  I  have  never  seen  her  so  moved. 
Can  it  be  only  sympathy?  while  she  kisses  her,  she 
turns  away  and  weeps !  Dear  me !  I  am  sure  I  could 
do  so  too  1" 

"My  dear  child!"  said  Miss  Lawrence,  "how  happy 
I  am  to  secure  you !  I  now  understand  what  has  ap 
peared  estrangement,  and  I  admire  you  all  the  more  for 
it.  I  shall  never  again  distrust  your  love." 

"Distrust!"  replied  Priscilla;  "why,  I  love  the  very 
ground  thou  walkest  on !" 

"  And  me,"  said  Eleanor ;  "  have  you  no  love  for  me, 
too,  Priscilla?" 


A  PEEP  AT  THE   PAST.  369 

"  Thee !  oh,  doubt  it  not.  Yesterday  1  felt  as  if  my 
heart  were  dead ;  to-day  I  love  every  body !" 

"And  you  will  never  be  jealous  of  me  again?" 

"Nay,  Eleanor,  not  so.  I  was  not  jealous  of  thee;  I 
did  not  sin  against  thee  by  an  evil  thought ;  I  was  only 
jealous  of  myself.  There  was  a  narrow  path  before  me, 
and  I  was  inwardly  admonished  to  walk  therein.  I  did 
not  dare  to  see  any  one  who  would  call  up  thoughts  for 
bidden." 

"Well,  a  wider  and  a  pleasanter  path  is  opening  to 
you  now,  dear  Priscilla." 

"Yes,  truly,  my  borders  are  enlarged,"  she  replied, 
but  in  a  manner  which,  though  grave,  was  so  simple  and 
childlike,  that  Eleanor  could  not  suppress  a  smile ;  and 
Priscilla,  now  in  a  mood  to  respond  to  every  pleasurable 
emotion,  involuntarily  returned  it ;  at  the  same  time  say 
ing,  "  Thou  laughest,  Eleanor,  and,  perhaps,  at  me,  for  I 
know  that  my  l  dress  and  address'  are  often  strange  unto 
thee.  But,  now  that  I  am  happy,  I  will  prove  to  thee 
that  there  is  a  real  girl's  heart  under  these ;  and  that,  if 
I  can  not  be  acceptable  to  thee  by  what  godly  William 
Penn  calleth  the  i  trims  and  d  la  modeness  of  dress,'  I  will 
try  to  be  so  by  a  cheerful  spirit." 

"I  believe  you,"  said  Eleanor;  "henceforth  we  are 
friends." 

The  time  of  the  New  York  visit  was  now  close  at 
hand,  the  sailing-day  appointed,  and  every  thing  in 
readiness  except  the  vessel,  which  was  detained  two  days 
longer,  her  cargo  being  not  all  in. 

This  term  expired;  then  at  eight  o'clock  on  the  fol 
lowing  morning  she  would  certainly  be  under  way,  and 
a  troop  of  little  darkies  were  on  the  look-out  to  see  her 
emerge  from  the  cove  which  formed  her  harbor.  The 
horses  were  harnessed,  ready  to  be  attached  to  the  car 
riage  ;  the  baskets  with  provisions  for  the  voyage,  the 

Q2 


370  WALTER  THORNLEY;    OR, 

presents  of  various  nice  articles  of  domestic  manufac 
ture —  hams,  tongues,  sweetmeats,  cakes,  etc.,  designed 
for  Mrs.  Meredith — and  the  luggage,  were  all  collected 
in  front  of  the  house,  to  be  transported,  at  a  moment's 
notice,  to  the  dock  at  the  bottom  of  the  hill ;  but  still 
no  sloop  appeared.  After  two  hours  of  tedious  expecta 
tion,  they  ascertained  that  the  vessel  could  not  get  over 
the  bar  before  the  tide  rose,  at  the  close  of  the  day. 
There  was  nothing  but  resignation  to  discomforts,  which 
then  were  the  common  accompaniments  of  traveling; 
and  people  who  had  never  known  the  advantage  of 
starting  at  a  prescribed  time,  and  of  being  able  to  say,  to 
a  minute,  when  they  should  or  ought  to  arrive  at  a  given 
place,  submitted  with  a  grace  that  now  can  hardly  be 
conceived  of.  Even  Mr.  Lawrence,  who  certainly  had 
not  the  virtue  of  patience,  never  imagined  he  had  the 
right  to  complain  because  Captain  Ostrander  did  not 
better  calculate  the  time  necessary  to  take  in  his  lad 
ing,  the  water  his  vessel  would  draw,  or  the  time  the  tide 
would  serve.  On  the  contrary,  when  the  sloop  actually 
appeared,  bending  toward  the  shore,  and  they  were  really 
in  the  carriage,  followed  by  a  baggage- wagon,  and  every 
living  creature  on  the  premises,  black  and  white,  he  even 
congratulated  himself  on  his  good  fortune  in  getting  off, 
after  three  appointments  made  and  broken ! 

Yet  there  were  in  those  days  enjoyments  such  as  no 
steam-boats  nor  railroads  can  supply.  Traveling  was 
then  something  more  than  the  "  transmutation  of  a  man 
into  a  living  parcel" — one  u  who,  for  the  time,  has  part 
ed  with  the  nobler  characteristics  of  his  humanity  for 
the  sake  of  a  planetary  power  of  locomotion."  He 
"sees  nothing — he  admires  nothing."  He  would  not 
were  he  passing  "  by  rail"  through  the  Yale  of  Cash 
mere  !  "  All  he  asks  is,  *  carry  him  safely,  dismiss  him 
soon."  He  can  not  be  deceived  by  a  promise  of  pleas- 


A  PEEP  AT  THE  PAST.  371 

wre."     No,  that  is  past,  together  with  much  that  we  can 
not  regret. 

But  still,  does  not  a  cherished  recollection  cling  to  the 
old  time,  when  forty  miles  in  a  private  carriage,  with 
sleek,  well-fed  horses,  was  a  full  day's  journey ;  varied 
and  beautified  by  hill  and  dale,  the  road  winding  by 
pleasant  streams,  through  long-drawn  vistas  of  shady 
trees,  through  cooling  brooks,  refreshing  the  warm  and 
thirsty  animals,  regarded  much  as  fellow-travelers  ?  Its 
termination,  too,  had  a  pleasure  of  its  own ;  the  expect 
ant  inn,  and  at  the  door  the  well-known  landlord,  who 
had  grown  old  beneath  the  shadow  of  his  sign.  Per 
haps  he  was  a  justice  of  the  peace,  or  a  militia  colonel, 
or  a  substantial  Dutch  burgher;  for  in  those  days,  in 
New  England  at  least,  such  was  the  responsibility  of 
an  "innholder,"  that  a  man  was  seldom  licensed  whose 
character  was  npt  a  guarantee  to  the  public.  And 
then,  too,  "didn't  he  know  the  carriage  as  far  as  he  could 
see  it  ?"  and  didn't  he,  with  alacrity,  hasten  to  open  the 
door,  and  to  let  down  the  steps  for  Mr.  A.,  or  Mr.  B.,  or 
Mrs.  C.,  ushering  them,  not  into  rooms  glittering  with 
mirrors,  and  filled  with  dirty  damask — no  one  knowing 
and  no  one  caring  who  they  might  be — but  into  a  cozy 
little  room,  plain  but  comfortable,  where  a  quiet  meal, 
not  eaten  against  time,  was  served  to  them,  instead  of  a 
seat  at  a  long,  desolate  table,  permanently  arranged  for 
the  throng  who  at  certain  hours  assemble  at  it.  Then 
at  night,  not  a  canopy  bedstead,  resplendent  with  gilding 
and  mirrors,  and  curtained  with  silk,  suggestive  of  the 
pleasant  reflection  that,  though  numbers  have  reposed 
beneath  it,  soap  and  water  come  not  near  it — but  a  bed 
which,  if  inelegant,  was,  at  least,  not  too  fine  to  be  clean. 
No;  this  is  past.  Now  roads  are  rails,  horses  are  iron 
dragons — "  mad  elephants,"  as  the  Hindoos  call  them ; 
carriages  are  mere  containers,  and  men,  women,  and  chil- 


372  WALTER  THOBNLEY;  OK, 

dren,  deprived  of  individuality,  only  portions  of  matter, 
to  be  left,  like  merchandise,  at  certain  stations ;  while 
snake-heads,  broken  axles,  collisions,  and  fractured  limbs, 
are  too  often  the  wayside  diversities  of  the  route. 

But  what  is  to  be  done  ?  The  march  of  civilization 
hurries  us  on  with  railroad  speed.  As  we  are  borne 
swiftly  past  we  detect  imperfections,  but  we  can  not  stop 
to  rectify  them.  We  submit.  But  let  not  those  be 
blamed  who,  in  the  distance  that  stretches  far  behind, 
recall  images  of  an  earlier,  poorer,  and  simpler  age,  still 
dear  to  them. 


A  PEEP  AT  THE  PAST.  373 


CHAPTER  XXXV. 

LEAVING  Eleanor  at  home,  it  is  time  to  follow  Walter 
to  Ashton,  where,  having  accomplished  the  business  in 
trusted  to  him,  he  sought  again  to  lose  himself  in  the  in 
tricacies  of  the  law,  but  not  with  the  same  success.  The 
sentiment  which  he  had  flattered  himself  the  convictions 
of  his  reason  had  controlled,  if  not  subdued,  asserted  it 
self  with  even  greater  power.  The  lovely  confiding 
girl,  little  more  than  a  child,  who  had  supplied  the  stron 
gest  craving  of  his  nature,  had  grown  into  the  grace  and 
dignity  of  womanhood,  inspiring  not  alone  a  tenderness 
that  melted  his  heart,  but  claiming  a  homage  he  could 
not  withhold.  He  felt  himself  powerless.  He  might  be 
silent — he  might  conceal,  but  he  could  not  forget.  What 
remained  for  him  but  to  repeat  in  substance  what  the 
poet  has  sung : 

"Why  should  I  indiscreetly  tell 
The  name  my  heart  has  kept  so  well  ? 
No ;  let  it,  shrined  within  my  breast, 
A  little  saint  forever  rest ; 
Forever  loved  and  worship' d  there, 
But  never  mention'd  save  in  prayer !" 

It  has  been  said  that  "  every  one  can  do  what  he 
should  do."  While  Walter  struggled  to  prove  the  truth 
of  this,  his  mind  was  averted  in  some  degree  from  per 
sonal  interests  by  a  long  and  pleasant  letter  from  Os 
car.  His  previous  ones  had  mentioned  his  improving 
health  and  southern  winter.  All  breathed  the  same  ge 
nial  spirit,  the  same  generous  admiration  of  his  friend. 
In  this  he  spoke  of  their  homeward  course.  They  had 
arrived  at  Pittsburg,  and  should  soon  be  at  the  Lodge. 


374  WALTER  THORNLEY;    OR, 

Much  of  it  was  occupied  with  his  mother.  He  dwelt  on 
her  delight  in  untamed  nature.  The  deep  solitudes  of 
the  primeval  forests  through  which  their  "  keel-bottom 
ed  boat,"  impelled  only  by  the  poles  of  the  boatmen,  had 
breasted  the  strong  currents  of  the  Ohio ;  the  picturesque 
lights  and  shadows ;  their  nightly  encampments  in  woods 
strewn  with  a  paradisiacal  profusion  of  flowers,  had  en 
chanted  her !  The  simple  preparations  for  their  evening 
meal,  their  beds  of  skins  spread  on  the  grass,  the  watch- 
fires  during  the  night — all  was  in  keeping.  "It  was," 
she  said,  "  the  very  poetry  of  life !"  "  Even  my  father," 
continued  Oscar,  "  caught  the  infection  of  her  German 
enthusiasm.  I  never  saw  him  so  happy  as  when,  with 
her  arm  in  his,  her  hand  in  his  grasp,  they  wandered 
into  the  forest  while  the  men  were  pitching  our  tents. 
1  This,'  he  exclaimed,  l  is  indeed  to  be  free !  Here  only 
one  may  escape  from  those  who  presume  to  legislate  for 
the  heart.  Here  I  could  be  happy,  no  one  to  question 
my  motives  or  to  control  my  actions.  But  you,  There 
sa?'  'Any  where  with  you,'  was  her  reply.  For  my 
self,  I  must  confess  I  am  not  so  romantic.  No,  that  is 
not  the  word ;  it  is  that  I  have  not  yet  quarreled  with 
the  world ;  that  I  believe  it  might  bestow  a  felicity  which 
the  whole  Northwest  could  not  furnish." 

This  letter  was  followed  by  one  of  a  very  different  de 
scription.  Their  journey  had  terminated  most  sadly! 
At  Shippensburg,  in  Pennsylvania,  one  of  the  last  towns 
on  this  side  of  the  Tuscarora  Mountains,  Mrs.  Middleton 
had  been  seized  with  an  inflammatory  disease,  which  had 
terminated  her  life  in  a  week.  Walter  was  deeply 
touched.  He  had  seen  her  at  the  most  impressible  age. 
A  lovely  and  gentle  woman,  she  had  first  made  him 
sensible  of  that  sweet  influence  of  sex  which  animates 
the  pure  sentiment  of  the  son  to  his  mother,  of  the 
brother  to  his  sister,  long  before  the  heart  believes  in  a 


A  PEEP  AT  THE   PAST.  375 

stronger  passion.  His  subsequent  intercourse  with  Os 
car  had  deepened  this  first  impression,  for  he  was  the 
reflection  of  herself.  To  him  his  ready  sympathy  was 
offered.  "But  who,"  thought  he,  " can  speak  comfort 
to  Mr.  Middleton?  alike  unapproachable  as  inconsol 
able." 

Some  days  afterward,  having  returned  rather  early 
from  the  office,  he  followed  the  hum  of  Damie's  little 
wheel  to  the  outside  of  the  door,  where,  for  greater  cool 
ness,  she  had  placed  it  on  the  clean-swept  gravel-path, 
and,  having  found  a  seat  on  the  step,  he  fell  into  a  kind 
ly  chat  with  her.  This  gradually  ceasing,  he  mechan 
ically  followed  her  movements  with  his  eye,  as  in  the 
days  of  his  childhood,  while  his  thoughts,  perhaps,  were 
far  away. 

At  length  he  said,  "  Damie,  you  look  like  one  of  the 
Fates." 

"  Who  be  they,  Walter?" 

"  Three  old  ladies,  who  watch  when  we  are  born,  spin 
the  thread  of  our  lives,  and  then  cut  them  short." 

"  Marcy  on  me !  Why,  now,  you  don't  mean  for  to 
say,  Walter,  that  I  would  be  so  wicked  as  to  kill  any 
body,  do  you  ?" 

"  No,  no,"  replied  he,  laughing,  and  endeavoring  to 
adapt  the  fable,  but  not  very  successfully,  to  her  prosaic 
mind. 

"  Well,"  said  she,  "  I  don't  call  that  very  profitable 
spinmV,  any  how — always  a  cuttin'  off  the  thread  into 
all  sorts  of  lengths.  Just  a  waste !  couldn't  make  warp 
nor  fillin'  on't." 

Walter  smiled,  and  she  went  on.  "I  'spose  I  don't 
quite  see  into  it.  Never  mind,  I'll  turn  my  labor  to  bet 
ter  account.  But  hark !" 

Here  a  military  air,  in  a  clear  whistle,  attracted  their 
attention. 


376  WALTER  THORNLEY;  OR, 

"  'Tis  Jed  come  home  ag'in.  The  cre'ter  has  been  gone 
on  one  of  his  long  tramps.  Yes,  there  he  is  jest  turnin' 
the  corner." 

In  a  few  minutes  Jed  was  with  them,  and,  having  re 
ceived  a  hearty  shake  of  the  hand  from  each,  and  taken 
the  chair  that  Walter  brought  for  him,  he  began,  as  usu 
al,  with  his  experiences. 

"Well,  if  I'm  not  tired  to-day,  nobody  never  was, 
that's  sartin." 

"  When  did  you  get  home  ?"  asked  Damie. 

"  About  noon,  I  guess ;  and,  you  see,  Damie,  I  can't  no 
how  live  without  you." 

A  laugh,  the  only  return  that  Jed's  gallantry  ever 
asked  or  received,  was  accorded. 

"  Well,  now,  I  know  you're  burnin'  for  news,  and  I'll 
not  disapp'int  you  this  time.  I  guess  I've  larn'd  so'thin7 
now,  if  I  never  did  afore." 

Jed's  air  of  self-importance  was  no  small  provocative 
of  Damie's  curiosity,  and,  while  Walter,  in  complaisance, 
seemed  to  listen,  she  suspended  the  motion  of  her  wheel, 
and  gave  him  her  undivided  attention. 

"Well,  to  begin,  for  you  know  I  love  to  do  things 
reg'lar — I  larnt  that  in  the  army — I  thought  I'd  strike 
across  the  country,  and  go  clear  to  the  river,  this  time. 
I  hadn't  been  there  lately,  and  I  was  a  thinkin'  that  the 
quality  out  there  must  want  fixin'  up.  Well,  I  did  so, 
and,  after  tradin'  pretty  successful,  I  come  to  a  great  old 
place  I'd  often  heard  tell  of,  but  somehow  I  hadn't  never 
been  to,  and,  thinkin'  it  wasn't  obleegin'  not  to  accom 
modate  them  too,  I  thought  I'd  stop  now.  But,  Damie," 
continued  he,  with  a  look  meant  to  concentrate  all  her 
capacity  for  wonder  and  curiosity,  "  you  hav'n't  no  idee 
of  what  all  come  out  of  this !  You're  as  far  from  it  as 
one  of  them  'ere  chickens,  peckin'  round  there.  Oh,  the 
queer  things  in  this  world !  Kascals  lyin'  in  wait,  old 


A  PEEP  AT  THE  PAST.  377 

gentlemen  a  stormin',  niggers  a  yellin',  dogs  a  barkin', 
blankets  a  shakin',  young  ladies  a  faintin',  pistols  a  p'int- 
in',  and  Old  Jed  to  bear  all !"  he  concluded,  with  much 
the  same  self-glorification  as  that  with  which  "Old 
Jack"  lamented  the  oblivion  of  "  Manhood,  good  man 
hood!" 

"But,  Damie,"  he  resumed,  "to  see  her  pretty  face! 
to  hear  her  say  she  wouldn't  never  forget  me !  why,  I 
tell  you,  I'd  a  faced  a  battery ;  I'd  a  stormed  a  redoubt, 
if  I  kno'd  there  was  a  mine  under  it ;  I'd  a  blowed  my 
self  to  atoms  afore  I'd  a  desarted  her ;  I'd — " 

"What  under  the  canopy  are  you  runnin'  on  so 
about,  Jed?"  exclaimed  the  astonished  Damie;  "who 
are  you  talkin'  about?" 

"  Why,  who  should  it  be  but  that  pretty  cre'ter,  Miss 
Ellenny — Ellenny ;  I  can't  jest  hit  the  name,  but  she 
writ  it  here  in  my  pocket-book.,"  producing  it  as  he 
spoke. 

Walter,  who  had  but  imperfectly  attended  to  Jed's 
narration,  suspecting  that  he  would  sometimes,  perhaps 
unconsciously,  "  embroider"  a  little,  caught  that  name, 
which,  however  marred,  his  heart  could  not  but  trans 
late;  and,  seizing  the  extended  pocket-book,  read  on 
the  coarse  and  soiled  leaf  what  he  considered  should 
only  be  inscribed  on  an  imperishable  tablet. 

An  involuntary  exclamation  escaped  him,  to  which 
Jed  responded  by  a  look  of  acute  and  eager  inquiry, 
saying,  "Why,  sartin,  you  can't  know  nothin'  about 
her?" 

Walter  attempted  an  explanation  that  should  avert 
the  curiosity  excited ;  but  he  could  better  have  parried 
eyes  and  ears  polite  than  Jed's  or  Damie's,  who  both, 
full  of  real  interest,  and  unrestrained  by  forms  and  pro 
prieties,  pressed  the  when,  and  where,  and  how,  till  they 
had  extracted  the  fact  that  she  was  the  individual  young 


378  WALTER  THOKNLEY;  OB, 

lady,  the  "  one  scholar  that  Walter  had  been  sent  for 
to  teach."  What  inference  they  farther  drew  they  pru 
dently  withheld  from  Walter,  who  now,  in  his  turn,  de 
manded  an  account  of  the  circumstances  to  which  Jed 
had  alluded. 

In  silence  he  listened,  but  the  strong  emotions  which 
the  detail  excited — surprise,  alarm,  indignation — were 
sufficiently  intelligible.  At  length,  starting  up  with  un 
controllable  agitation,  he  gave  vent  to  his  feelings  in 
such  vehement  language  that  Damie  laid  her  hand  im 
ploringly  on  his  shoulder.  It  recalled  him  sufficiently 
for  a  rigid  cross-examination  of  Jed. 

"And  what  security  is  there  for  the  future?"  he  con 
tinued  ;  "  why  may  he  not  renew  the  attempt?" 

"  Didn't  I  see  to  that  ?"  replied  Jed,  with  a  knowing 
wink.  "Didn't  I  stay  hangin'  about  for  days?  No 
body  mistrusted  me;  peddlers'  work's  like  women's — 
never  done ;  and  then,  you  know,  my  leg  got  desper't 
bad"— another  wink — "and  I  couldn't  travel  no  how. 
And  the  women,  they'd  give  me  a  meal  or  a  night's 
lodging  for  some  little  notion  out  of  my  pack.  All  this 
time,  you  know,  I  was  spyin'  round  a'ter  that  'ere  sar- 
pent,  but  couldn't  see  hide  nor  hoof  of  him.  Well,  a'ter 
I  had  pretty  much  gi'n  him  up,  I  goes,  one  day,  by  the 
old  place — rayther  shy,  though,  'cause  I  didn't  care  to 
have  another  time  on't  with  the  old  gentleman;  and 
what  should  I  see  but  the  grand  family-coach,  tip-top,  I 
can  tell  you,  going  down  the  road !  I  followed  on  to  the 
dock,  and  there  I  see  that  same  young  lady  go  aboard 
of  a  sloop  jest  setting  sail  for  New  York ;  so  all's  safe 
new." 

This  was  a  relief — Eleanor  was  with  her  parents.  As 
sured  on  this  point,  he  expressed  his  earnest  gratitude  to 
Jed,  and  left  him  and  Damie  to  compare  their  own  views 
of  the  matter. 


A   PEEP   AT  THE   PAST.  379 

As  lie  retreated  Jed  turned  his  quid  and  said,  "  Da- 
mie!" 

"  Jed!"  replied  she  in  the  same  tone. 

"  I  say,  Damie,  can't  you  see  as  far  into  a  mill-stone  as 
lean?" 

"  I  guess  I  can,  Jed." 

"Didn't  you  mark  how  he  acted  when  I  repeated 
them  'ere  varses?" 

"  Be  sure !" 

"  And  when  she  was  a  describin'  the  man  she  was  ex- 
pectin'  ?" 

"Sartin." 

"  And  didn't  you  notice  what  a  flustration  he  was  in  ? 
Now  you  know  that,  nat'rally,  he's  rayther  still." 

" Oh  yes!  I  see." 

"  And  then  how  he  thanked  me,  as  if  I  had  done  him 
the  greatest  sarvice  of  the  two." 

" Be  sure!" 

Here  Jed  gave  his  long,  low  whistle,  which  always, 
with  him,  signified  unspeakable  things.  Then,  with  a 
comprehensive  "WellP  he  rose,  adding,  "I  must  go 
now,  Damie ;  but  if  Walter  wants  any  message  carried, 
or  any  sarvice  done — you  understand  ?  I'm  ready,  if  it's 
a  hundred  miles  off;  jest  tell  him  so,  will  you?" 

Walter  had  strayed  off  to  recover  himself  unobserved. 
He  was  vexed  to  have  betrayed  so  much  feeling.  It 
was  exposing  Eleanor  to  vulgar  gossip ;  it  was  laying 
open  a  corner  of  his  heart  never  yet  disclosed  but  to 
Heaven.  This  feeling  yielded  to  the  still  stronger  one 
excited  by  the  danger  of  Eleanor ;  to  the  desire  to  dis 
cover  and  punish  the  contriver.  But  he  was  here  more 
at  fault  than  she  had  been ;  for,  though  he  had  no  diffi 
culty  in  believing  that  an  artful  and  desperate  man 
might  have  been  tempted  to  the  outrage  by  such  a  prize, 
and  that  it  was  obvious  that  the  villain,  having  seen 


380  WALTER  THORNLEY;  OR, 

him  set  on  shore,  had  used  the  circumstance  as  a  de 
coy,  yet  he  knew  no  one  to  whom  her  residence  at 
Eosenberg  had  introduced  her.  Conjecture,  therefore, 
was  vain ;  and  he  turned  from  the  irritating  thought  to 
the  consolatory  conviction  of  her  safety. 


A  PEEP  AT  THE  PAST.  381 


CHAPTEE  XXXYI. 

IN  the  morning,  Walter  went  to  his  usual  labors: 
but  the  pages  that  he  had  heretofore  patiently  explored, 
because  that,  however  dry  or  obscure,  he  believed  them, 
like  the  books  of  the  magician,  to  contain  the  secret  of 
life  and  fortune,  now  failed  to  interest  him.  The  hours 
wore  away  wearily,  and  he  was  glad  that  the  business 
of  the  office  permitted  him  to  leave  it  earlier  than  usual. 

But  he  could  not  go  home.  He  longed  not  for  the 
human  voice,  but  for  the  murmur  of  waters,  the  whis 
pers  of  the  breeze,  the  hum  of  insects,  and  the  sweet, 
tranquilizing  sounds  of  summer. 

Taking  a  course  over  the  hills,  after  a  long  walk,  he 
found  himself  at  his  favorite  spot — the  height  that  over 
looked  the  fall ;  and,  throwing  himself  on  the  sward, 
he  reclined  on  a  little  grassy  mound  that  had  pillowed 
his  head  when  a  boy.  There  had  been  a  heavy  rain  for 
many  hours,  and,  though  it  had  ceased,  and 

"The  great  sun 

Look'd  with  an  eye  of  love  through  the  golden 
Vapors  around  him," 

the  weather  was  not  settled.  It  had  cleared,  but  the 
wind  had,  in  country  phrase,  "gone  round  the  wrong 
way."  Still,  every  object  was  dipped  in  beauty.  Ex 
halations, 

"Their  fleecy  skirts  painted  with  gold," 

hung,  like  a  gorgeous  drapery,  round  the  setting  sun. 
The  passing  zephyr  shook  from  the  leaves  a  shower  of 
diamond  sparks.  The  fairy-draught  still  waited,  in  the 
chalice  of  the  wild  flowers,  which, 


382  WALTER  THORNLEY;    OK, 

"With  rich  inlay, 

'Broider'd  the  ground ; 

and  the  river,  with  a  fuller  current,  sent  forth  a  deeper 
tone,  as  it  fell  and  rushed  along. 

"Walter  did  not  want  to  think.  He  had  no  pleasant 
subject  of  reflection.  He  asked  only  to  repose  on  "the 
lap  of  earth,"  as  unconscious  as  the  weed  that  sprung 
from  it. 

For  some  time  he  thus  lay,  calmed  by  the  quiet  influ 
ences  of  the  place  into  an  unmindfulness  of  any  distinct 
thing,  and  reckless  of  the  damp  earth  on  which  he  cast 
himself.  A  rustling  in  the  branches  near  him  caused 
him  to  turn,  and  he  beheld  a  face,  the  impression  of 
which  time  only  deepened  on  his  tenacious  memory. 

Starting  up,  and  rejecting  the  hand  extended  to  him, 
he  met  the  eyes  of  the  stranger  with  a  fixed  and  indig 
nant  gaze. 

" Do  you  not  know  me?"  he  asked,  in  a  gentle  tone. 

"  Too  well,"  was  Walter's  quick  reply. 

"  Then  why  refuse  the  salutation,  which,  as  your  best 
friend,  I  have  a  right  to  claim  ?" 

Walter  smiled  contemptuously. 

"  I  know  you  only  as  one  who  insists  on  rights,  but 
performs  no  duties ;  who  makes  promises  only  to  break 
them ;  who,  having  left  me  to  dependence,  would  frus 
trate  my  honest  efforts  to  support  myself;  who  shrouds 
himself  in  mystery  to  escape  me,  and,  like  an  assassin, 
stabs  in  the  dark." 

The  smile  that  had  dressed  the  face  of  the  stranger  re 
mained  unchanged,  as  if  listening  to  the  idle  reproaches 
of  a  child. 

"I  have  neither  time  nor  disposition  to  discuss  these 
charges,"  said  he ;  "we  have  weightier  matters  to  speak 
of.  Come,  Walter,"  he  added,  with  an  insinuating  tone, 
"  'tis  time  that  you  really  know  me.  I  forgive  every 


A  PEEP  AT  THE   PAST.  383 

harsh  word,  every  injurious  suspicion,  however  much 
they  have  wronged  me,  in  the  conviction  that  I  have  a 
perfect  justification  in  my  power.  But  let  us  find  a  rest 
ing-place,  for  I  have  much  to  say,  and  every  mystery  of 
which  you  complain  shall  be  cleared  up." 

He  had  never  been  so  fortunate  as  to  inspire  Walter 
with  confidence,  nor  was  he  more  successful  now ;  but 
the  conviction  that  at  least  he  could  no  longer  deceive 
him,  induced  him  to  listen.  Without  replying,  he  ap 
proached  a  little  gravelly  knoll,  and,  having  seated  them 
selves,  the  stranger  abruptly  asked, 

"Would  you  like  to  go  to  England?" 

At  a  proposition  of  such  import,  Walter  paused,  and 
then  said,  "  It  would  depend  on  the  motive  assigned  for 
my  going." 

"  Suppose  it  the  strongest  that  could  be  offered.  The 
restoration  to  your  natural  friends ;  the  removal  of  all 
concealment  in  regard  to  your  birth,  your  past,  and  your 
future.  Would  this  induce  you?" 

"  Certainly ;  but  I  should  require  the  most  unques 
tionable  proof  that  such  would  be  the  result." 

* '  Undoubtedly.  This  I  will  furnish ;  nay,  more,  I  will 
myself  accompany  you." 

The  idea  against  which  Walter  had  struggled  and  re-' 
volted — that  this  person  had  claims  he  should  find  it  im 
possible  to  evade — came  over  him.  Yet  he  felt  that  this 
might  be  the  crisis  of  his  fate,  that  it  must  not  be  trifled 
with.  He  hesitated,  and  then  said,  "Is  that  necessary? 
With  the  proper  testimonials,  can  I  not  proceed  alone  ?" 

A  smile,  almost  contemptuous,  was  the  immediate 
reply. 

"  You  little  understand  in  what  these  credentials  con 
sist,  nor  how  important  I,  personally,  am  to  your  success. 
But  you  must  confide  in  me ;  you  must  be  advised,  nay, 
governed  by  me ;  you  will  tread  unknown  ground,  and 


384  WALTER  THORNLEY;    OR, 

may  encounter  obstacles  you  little  think  of.  Without 
me,  your  attempt  would  be  futile." 

Walter  shuddered  at  the  close  connection  that  was  in 
timated  ;  and  even  were  it  not  such  as  he  feared,  to  be 
advised,  even  controlled  by  this  person,  his  distrust  of 
whom  was  nearly  invincible,  was  so  repugnant  to  him 
that  he  could  not  bring  himself  to  utter  the  required  as 
sent.  At  length  he  said, 

"  I  owe  every  thing  to  Mr.  Grafton.  I  will  take  no 
step  without  his  concurrence.  If  I  am  not  at  liberty  to 
consult  him,  I  decline  your  proposition  entirely." 

"  You  are  right,"  replied  the  stranger,  with  a  readi 
ness  that  looked  like  truth.  "  No  one  can  more  highly 
estimate  your  obligations  to  Mr.  Grafton  than  I  do.  You 
only  anticipate  what  I  meant  to  say.  Consult  him  by 
all  means.  I  will  not  ask  of  you  any  thing  that  he  shall 
not  approve.  I  will  see  him  myself;  I  ought  to  do  so. 
I  have  much,  very  much,  for  which  to  thank  him." 

This  answer,  prompt  and  unqualified,  and  therefore 
unexpected,  had  its  effect  on  Walter. 

"And  when  is  it  proposed  that  I  should  go?"  he 
asked. 

"  By  the  first  vessel  that  sails.  I  think  I  can  rely  on 
one  within  a  week.  The  precise  day  I  can  not  now 
name." 

"And  the  testimonials?" 

"  They  shall  be  yours  to-morrow.  Communicate  with 
Mr.  Grafton  this  evening.  Meet  me  alone  at  this  place 
to-morrow  morning,  say  at  nine  o'clock,  and  all  that  is 
necessary  to  satisfy  you  shall  be  placed  in  your  hands." 

Walter  looked  as  if  he  would  speak  farther.  He  did, 
indeed,  long  to  put  one  question,  "  Did  his  parents  live  ? 
Had  he  no  cause  to  blush  for  his  birth?"  But,  as  if  di 
vining  his  thought,  or  perhaps  to  test  his  submission,  the 
stranger  said,  with  significance,  "  Ask  me  nothing  now. 


A  PEEP  AT  THE  PAST.  885 

'Tis  best  you  should  not  know  in  part.  The  whole  will 
bring  explanations  that  will  palliate,  if  not  justify,  what 
ever  is  painful.  To-morrow  you  will  know  all." 

"  All !"  thought  Walter,  with  a  sinking  of  the  heart 
at  these  ambiguous  words,  that  made  him  almost  desire 
to  remain  in  the  ignorance  which  he  had  hitherto  found 
so  hard  to  bear. 

"And  now,"  continued  the  stranger,  "I  leave  you. 
Give  me  your  hand  at  parting.  You  will  never  refuse 
it  again,"  he  added,  with  a  cordial  pressure,  and  a  smile 
so  persuasive  that  Walter  felt  his  aversion  and  doubt 
melting  away. 

The  stranger's  quick  eye  perceived  it. 

"  Ah !"  said  he,  "  you  are  naturally  too  generous  to 
question  so  narrowly  and  harshly  the  actions  of  men. 
Appearances  have  misled  you.  You  will  learn  to  be 
more  discriminating  and  more  confiding;  to  pity,  in 
stead  of  blaming,  those  who  are  condemned  to  a  conduct 
as  foreign  to  their  natures  as  to  yours.  Do  not  deny  to 
yourself  the  happy  privilege  of  youth — the  faculty  of 
believing.  The  world  will  disabuse  you  soon  enough. 
Better  the  fate  of  him  on  whose  tomb  was  inscribed 
*  The  Deceived,'  than  never  to  trust." 

What  was  it  that  so  affected  Walter — a  tone,  a  look, 
a  will  that,  by  a  sort  of  mesmerism,  subdued  him  ?  or 
the  bringing  back  the  recollections  of  a  period  when  this 
man  seemed  his  only  friend  ? 

"  Ah !  I  see,"  continued  he,  as  if  again  penetrating  the 
thoughts  of  Walter ;  "  I  see !  Think  you  that  I  do  not 
remember,  too,  when  you  clung  to  my  hand,  followed 
my  steps,  sunk  to  sleep  on  my  bosom!  Forgive  me, 
Walter,  if  I  have  ever  appeared  to  forget  it.  And  now 
I  must  leave  you." 

Walter,  with  an  irrepressible  desire  to  be  satisfied,  at 
least  on  one  point,  before  they  parted,  said, 

E 


38(5  WALTER  THOENLEY;  OK, 

"  Will  you  not,  as  an  earnest  of  farther  communica 
tions,  give  me  one  more  assurance — your  name?  Ke- 
member,  that  for  twenty  years  I  have  been  denied  it." 

With  a  smile,  much  as  a  mother  would  repress  the 
importunity  of  her  child,  he  replied,  "  To-morrow!  to 
morrow!"  and,  retreating  into  the  thicket  whence  he 
had  emerged,  was  next  seen  crossing  the  bridge ;  and, 
having  gained  the  opposite  side,  with  a  farewell  wave 
of  his  hand  he  disappeared. 

"What  a  puppet,"  thought  Walter,  "I  am  in  that 
man's  hands !  At  one  moment  wrought  to  fury,  and  the 
next  held  as  if  in  leading-strings  I" 

The  night  was  closing  darkly  around  as  he  reached 
home,  and  a  rising  wind  in  a  threatening  quarter  por 
tended  a  storm.  Mr.  Grafton  congratulated  him  on 
finding  a  shelter  before  the  rain  should  come,  and  Da- 
mie  looked  inquiringly  at  his  damp  clothes  and  wet 
feet.  "  "Tis  ridic'lous,  Walter,"  said  she,  with  the  priv 
ilege  of  affection,  "  to  be  sittin'  on  the  ground  a'ter  such 
a  rainy  spell.  Why,  the  airth  is  a  parfect  ma'sh,  'spe 
cially  in  the  woods,  where  you  are  always  a  goin'.  You 
want  to  be  looked  a'ter  just  as  if  you  was  a  boy.  You 
must  take  some  bone-set  when  you  go  to  bed,  or  you'll 
be  stiff  as  a  stake  in  the  mornin'." 

But  Mr.  Grafton  perceived  that  Damie's  fears  and  pre 
scriptions  were  lost  on  Walter ;  that  something  occupied 
him  to  the  entire  oblivion  of  any  consideration  of  com 
fort  or  health ;  and,  getting  rid  of  her  as  soon  as  he  could, 
he  awaited  the  communication  which  he  saw  was  trem 
bling  on  his  lip.  He  had  not  long  to  expect  it,  but,  hav 
ing  heard,  he  was  not  so  quick  to  reply. 

The  idea  of  parting  with  Walter  for  a  purpose  that 
might  separate  them  forever,  pained  him  inexpressibly. 
But  this  might  be  borne  under  different  circumstances. 
Whatever  should  promote  his  happiness  would  bring  its 


A    PEEP   AT   THE   PAST.  387 

own  consolation  to  himself.  But  to  place  him  in  the 
power  of  that  hard  man ;  to  surrender  his  yearly  parent 
al  rig^s  to  one  who  had  inspired  him  only  with  aver 
sion  ;  to  place  his  pure  mind,  his  unspotted  character, 
under  an  influence  which,  if  it  could  not  corrupt,  would 
render  him  miserable ;  to  have  him  compromised,  per 
haps,  by  the  companionship  of  a  man  whom  he  had 
every  right  to  distrust,  embarrassed  his  decision.  He 
could  only  say,  while  his  countenance  expressed  much 
more,  "  Let  us  see  the  promised  testimonials,  "Walter,  be 
fore  we  farther  discuss  this  matter.  Without  them  it  is 
impossible  to  form  an  opinion.  I  shall  also  see  the  man 
himself.  I  choose  to  read  his  face  as  well  as  his  papers." 

Walter  pressed  the  subject  no  farther,  but  the  conflict 
in  his  mind  was  but  too  visible ;  and,  unable  to  talk  of 
any  thing  else,  he  retired,  followed  by  Damie,  with  her 
favorite  medicament  against  the  effects  of  cold,  the  last 
thing,  in  his  present  state  of  excitement,  to  be  appre 
hended.  But,  though  he  patiently  bore  with  her  re 
proofs  and  directions,  he  retained  no  distinct  impression 
of  either.  The  door  closed  after  her,  leaving  him  no 
other  consciousness  than  that  of  being  alone  and  quiet ; 
and  the  draught  remained  untouched. 

But  to  this  sleep  did  not  succeed.  The  wind,  which 
had  risen  toward  night,  with  loud  threatenings  of  an  ap 
proaching  storm,  was  now  accompanied  by  a  rain  that  de 
scended  in  torrents.  The  trees  creaked  to  the  blast  that 
whistled  through  their  branches,  and  the  darkness  was  in 
tense.  The  outer  world  but  too  well  imaged  the  tumult 
and  obscurity  in  his  own  breast.  At  one  moment,  with 
a  passionate  eagerness,  he  longed  for  the  morning,  and 
trembled  with  a  strange  delight  at  the  disclosure  it  was 
to  bring.  An  indescribable  feeling  possessed  him,  as 
of  an  entrance  into  a  new  being — a  revelation  of  himself 
to  himself — a  sort  of  bewildering  loss  of  present  identity, 


388 

in  the  expectation  of  a  new  personality.  Then  he  ask 
ed,  in  terror,  "What  unknown  ties  were  to  be  formed? 
what  old  ones  to  be  ruptured  ?"  With  this  cam^dsions 
of  Mr.  Grafton  and  Eleanor ;  of  the  past ;  of  childhood, 
youth,  and  love.  "Oh,  heaven!  were  all  these  hence 
forth  to  be  to  him  as  dreams?  and,  if  so,  what  was  to 
take  their  place  ?"  That  face,  so  impenetrable,  was  the 
only  answer,  and  a  fearful  gulf  seemed  to  open  before 
him. 

Thus  tossed  and  agitated,  the  first  hours  of  the  night 
brought  him  no  refreshment.  At  length  he  sank  into  a 
sleep  so  heavy  as  for  a  time  to  overpower  thought,  but 
from  which  he  started,  as  people  do  when  under  the  im 
pression  of  a  strong  necessity,  at  an  earlier  hour  than 
usual. 

The  night  had  brought  as  little  rest  to  Mr.  Grafton  as 
to  himself,  and  the  breakfast  was  a  sad  one.  When 
finished,  Walter  rose,  stood  as  if  about  to  speak,  looked 
irresolute,  suddenly  seized  his  guardian's  hand,  pressed 
it  earnestly,  and,  rushing  from  the  house,  hastened  to 
the  place  of  meeting. 


A  PEEP  AT  THE   PAST.  389 


CHAPTER  XXXVII. 

THE  rain  was  over ;  but,  though  the  wind  had  abated, 
it  still  returned  in  fitful  and  complaining  bursts,  driving 
before  it  dark,  broken  clouds  that  saddened  the  heavens. 

As  Walter  approached  the  ravine  he  was  struck  with 
the  ravages  of  the  night.  The  old  sycamore,  long  since 
reduced  to  a  fragment  of  its  original  size,  had  been  reft 
of  most  of  its  remaining  branches,  which,  together  with 
young  saplings  uprooted  from  their  slender  hold  on  the 
light  soil,  and  portions  of  rock  loosened  by  the  rain, 
were  strewn  at  the  bottom  of  the  fall.  The  river  seem 
ed  nearly  to  have  doubled  its  volume,  and,  as  if  with  a 
conscious  power,  tumbled  impetuously  over  every  ob 
struction,  with  a  deafening  noise.  A  mass  of  rock,  at 
other  times  above  the  surface,  was  still  partially  exposed 
near  the  base  of  the  fall,  though  around  it  innumerable 
little  cascades  had  been  formed  by  the  swelling  waters. 

"How  beautiful!"  exclaimed  Walter,  almost  forget 
ting  for  a  moment  his  purpose.  "  If  the  sun  would  but 
shine !  I  have  never  seen  it  so  fine." 

The  next  moment  his  attention  was  diverted  to  a  per 
son  approaching  the  opposite  bank.  It  was  the  stran 
ger,  who,  with  long  and  hasty  strides,  bent  his  course  to 
the  bridge.  Walter's  eyes  followed  his  steps,  and  as  they 
did  so  he  perceived,  with  a  startling  shock,  that  the  abut 
ment  on  the  opposite  side — consisting  of  portions  of  rock 
imbedded  in  the  bank,  and  bound  together  by  the  roots 
of  a  tree  that  had  insinuated  themselves — had  yielded  to 
the  pressure  of  the  stream.  The  most  important  frag 
ment  had  disappeared  entirely,  the  others  looked  dis 
turbed  and  loose ;  and  the  tree,  whose  roots  had  served 


390  WALTER  THORNLEY;  OB, 

as  binders,  hung  down,  evidently  disengaged  from  the 
soil,  and  only  slightly  adhering  among  the  stones. 

To  raise  his  hat  as  a  signal,  to  wave  his  hand  as  a 
warning,  to  elevate  his  voice  in  admonition  of  the  threat 
ened  danger,  was  the  instinct  and  work  of  the  moment. 
But  in  vain.  The  noise  of  winds  and  waters  drowned 
his  voice,  and  his  gestures  were  not  understood.  The 
unconscious  man  continued  to  advance,  and,  as  he  did 
so,  held  something  in  his  hand  which  he  elevated  as 
if  in  triumph.  Walter,  terrified,  repeated  his  warn 
ing,  with  every  gesture  suggested  by  the  necessity;  the 
stranger,  blinded  by  Fate,  regarded  them  only  as  to 
kens  of  recognition.  Pressing  onward,  his  feet  touched 
the  bridge;  in  an  instant  his  weight  was  upon  it,  and 
the  next,  a  loud  crash  confirmed  Walter's  fears.  Then, 
for  the  first  time,  comprehending  the  danger,  he  strove 
to  recover  the  bank.  But  no — he  only  made  sure  his 
destruction,  lost  his  balance,  and  was  precipitated  on  the 
rocks  below,  even  before  the  entire  fall  of  the  bridge; 
which,  wrenching  itself  by  its  weight  from  the  opposite 
abutment,  descended  with  a  tremendous  force  so  near  its 
victim  as  to  appear  to  crush  him. 

A  shriek  of  horror  burst  from  Walter.  Casting  a 
frantic  look  around,  he  imploringly  called  for  help,  but 
no  voice  responded. 

The  stranger  lay  motionless.  Fearless  and  agile, 
Walter  prepared  to  descend  the  bank ;  and  though  he 
felt  the  stones  and  trees  of  which  he  had  heretofore  often 
made  a  ladder  yield  under  him,  he  reached  the  bottom 
in  safety,  and  made  his  way,  though  with  difficulty  and 
clanger,  to  the  rocky  bed  on  which  the  unfortunate  man 
lay.  He  saw,  to  his  unspeakable  distress,  that  a  frag 
ment  of  the  bridge  had  fallen  across  his  limbs.  There 
could  be  no  doubt  of  the  effect.  What  other  injuries  he 
had  received  he  endeavored  to  ascertain  by  such  efforts  as 


A  PEEP  AT  THE   PAST.  391 

he  was,  unassisted,  capable  of.  He  could  only  discover 
that,  though  life  was  not  extinct,  consciousness  seemed 
gone ;  a  faint  moan  was  the  only  sound  uttered. 

To  leave  him  thus  was  dreadful !  but  how  otherwise 
could  he  obtain  the  requisite  aid?  Again  he  shouted, 
".Help!  help!"  and  cast  a  despairing  glance  down  the 
ravine.  A  loud  "  Halloo  1"  answered  him,  and  in  a  sec 
ond  he  caught  a  glimpse  of  a  man  at  the  entrance.  Ke- 
peating  his  cries,  accompanied  by  wavings  of  hat  and 
handkerchief,  he  succeeded  in  attracting  his  attention  to 
himself,  and  soon,  to  his  inexpressible  relief,  he  discern 
ed  him  to  be  his  friend  Jed. 

The  usual  path  along  the  river's  margin  was  covered 
with  water,  and  one  less  fearless  than  Jed  might  have 
hesitated  to  adventure  up  the  ravine ;  but  he  was  not 
to  be  deterred,  though  it  was  impossible  to  advance  with 
the  rapidity  that  was  required. 

As  he  slowly  picked  his  way  through  water  and  over 
rocks,  sometimes  obliged  to  ascend  a  considerable  dis 
tance  up  the  shelving  bank,  Walter  watched  his  ap 
proach  with  feelings  more  easy  to  imagine  than  de 
scribe.  At  his  feet  lay  a  human  being,  a  few  instants 
before  full  of  life,  thought,  projects,  power — one  toward 
whom  the  returning  tide  of  early  affection  had  brought 
back  kinder  feelings  than  he  had  supposed  he  could  ever 
again  entertain  for  him — now  a  mangled,  perhaps  a  life 
less  mass !  and  on  this  man  depended  his  dearest  inter 
ests.  He  held  the  key  of  his  destiny.  He  alone  could 
raise  a  veil  now,  perhaps,  never  to  be  withdrawn,  and 
the  future  would  settle  over  him  as  darkly  as  the  past. 
Nay,  more,  with  a  shudder  that  chilled  his  very  soul,  he 
exclaimed,  "And  this  man  was,  perhaps,  my  father! 
Oh,  heaven!  am  I  never  to  be  relieved  from  this  op 
pressive  mystery  ?" 

With  eyes  bent  on  the  wretched  being  before  him, 


392  WALTER  THORNLEY;    OR, 

arms  crossed  on  his  breast,  and  emotions  that  nearly 
mastered  him,  he  remained,  till  Jed,  with  a  last  leap  to 
the  rock,  stood  beside  him. 

A  glance  at  the  wreck  of  the  bridge,  a  few  words  from 
Walter,  and  he  comprehended  the  whole.  Then,  stoop 
ing  down,  he  examined  the  face  that  was  turned  from 
him ;  but,  starting  back,  with  a  look  of  amazement  and 
awe,  he  exclaimed,  "The  Lord  is  just !  This  is  the  very 
indiwidival  I  told  you  of!  I  should  know  him  among  a 
thousand !" 

At  this  assertion,  confirmed  by  still  farther  examina 
tion,  the  revoltings  of  Walter  returned  with  increased 
violence  —  at  the  very  moment,  too,  when  he  desired 
only  to  indulge  in  the  new-born  confidence  inspired 
by  the  stranger !  The  revulsion  nearly  overcame  him. 
The  claims  of  a  common  humanity  alone  enabled  him  to 
exert  the  necessary  self-control. 

Fortunately,  several  persons  from  the  lower  village — 
some  curious  to  see  the  wrecks  of  the  storm,  others  to 
ascertain  the  cause  of  the  loud  report  on  the  falling  of 
the  bridge — now  appeared  on  the  heights  above,  or  wad 
ing  up  the  ravine. 

As  soon  as  the  catastrophe  was  understood,  there  was 
no  lack  of  assistance  ;  and  Jed,  having  ingeniously  con 
trived  a  hurdle  from  the  branches  of  trees,  suggested  the 
difficult,  but  only  expedient  of  thus  carrying  the  injured 
man  to  the  nearest  house,  or  other  resting-place,  where  a 
physician  should  be  in  readiness  to  attend  him. 

With  all  dispatch  this  idea  was  put  in  practice ;  and, 
carefully  and  tenderly,  the  rough  men  contrived  to  re 
move  the  timbers,  and  to  raise  and  place  upon  this  rude 
litter  the  poor  remains  of  a  body  which  still  gave  evi 
dence  of  life  by  obstructed  breathing  and  loud  moans. 
To  bear  this  burden,  by  a  path  difficult  for  a  single  per 
son,  was  no  easy  matter ;  but  what  will  not  human  sym- 


A  PEEP  AT  THE   PAST.  393 

pathy  effect?  At  last  it  was  accomplished.  Having 
reached  a  dwelling,  near  the  extremity  of  the  ravine, 
they  there  deposited  their  charge  in  the  hands  of  a  phy 
sician,  for  whom  a  messenger  had  been  sent. 

The  examination  was  not  long.  A  short  time  was 
sufficient  to  decide,  from  the  nature  of  the  injuries,  that 
life  could  not  be  preserved.  The  only  relief  the  case 
admitted  of  was  that  there  was  no  consciousness  of  suf 
fering,  and  that,  even  if  there  were,  the  conflict  must  be 
short.  This  opinion  was  soon  confirmed.  While  a  few 
lingered  round  from  compassion,  which,  however  fruit 
less,  was  not  to  be  repressed,  the  physician  remained  to 
watch  the  failing  pulse ;  and  Walter,  possessed  with 
the  feeling  that  to  him  belonged  the  sacred  offices 
due  by  the  kindred  of  the  dead,  reverently  waited  to 
receive  the  last  breath,  and  to  lay  his  hand  on  the  clos 
ing  eyes. 

Jed,  who,  after  his  fashion,  "puttin'  things  together," 
as  he  said,  had  come  to  the  conclusion  that  "  somehow 
this  person  was  not  unbeknown  to  Walter,"  and  who 
perceived,  moreover,  that  this  knowledge  was  attended 
by  a  painful  interest,  was  one  of  the  number  who  re 
mained. 

The  final  moment  that  comes  to  all  was  at  hand.  The 
physician  removed  the  finger  which  pressed,  in  vain,  for 
the  answering  pulse ;  listened  for  the  breath  that  no  lon 
ger  came ;  felt,  inquiringly,  for  the  heart  that  no  longer 
throbbed ;  and,  in  that  low  tone  which  all  instinctively 
use  in  the  presence  of  Death,  said,  "It  is  over!" 

Notwithstanding  his  distrust,  his  indignant  sense  of 
wrong,  the  last  charge  just  brought  against  him,  and  the 
repugnance  with  which,  until  very  lately,  he  had  shrunk 
from  this  strange  man,  Walter  could  not  hear  these  words 
without  a  pang. 

"Yes,"  thought  he,  "it  is  over!  The  last,  the  only 
R2 


394  WALTER  THORNLEY;  OR, 

clue  to  my  name  and  kindred,  the  only  being  to  whom, 
for  weal  or  for  woe,  I  seemed  to  belong,  is  gone !" 

Every  angry  feeling  was  still.  His  eyes  filled  with 
tears  as  he  contemplated  that  pale  and  ghastly  face,  and 
repeated  the  last  words  of  the  stranger,  " To-morrow! 
to-morrow!"  —  "how  unconscious,"  continued  he,  "of 
their  prophetic  import!" 

He  was  reminded  that  he  was  not  alone,  by  Jed's 
saying,  as  he  approached  and  stood  by  his  side,  "  Well, 
he  has  done  what  we  must  all  do ;  he  has  gi'n  in  his  ac 
count!" 

This  solemn  truth,  though  announced  in  homely 
phrase,  struck  to  the  heart  of  Walter,  and  turned  his 
thoughts  from  his  personal  interests  to  the  dread  con 
cerns  of  the  man  who  lay  before  him ;  in  comparison 
with  which,  all  earthly  hopes  and  disappointments  faded 
into  insignificance,  and  he  involuntarily  uttered  a  prayer 
for  mercy ! 

Having  given  the  necessary  directions,  he  hastened 
home  to  apprise  Mr.  Grafton  of  the  events  of  the  morn 
ing  ;  but  the  rumor  had  reached  him,  and,  hurrying  to 
the  place,  he  met  Walter  at  the  door,  whose  countenance 
confirmed  it. 

While  occupied  by  the  considerations  now  naturally 
presented,  they  were  interrupted  by  the  entrance  of  Jed. 
He  would,  perhaps,  have  dilated  on  an  occurrence  so 
startling,  but  he  saw  that,  contrary  to  his  usual  practice, 
the  fewest  words  were  best.  He,  therefore,  proceeded 
promptly  to  say  that,  in  removing  the  body,  a  packet 
had  been  found  lying  under  it,  from  which  circumstance 
it  had  remained  dry  and  uninjured ;  that,  not  knowing 
what  it  might  contain,  or  into  what  hands  it  might  fall, 
he  had  put  it  immediately  into  his  own  pocket,  whence 
he  now  took  it. 

"  I  expect,"  continued  he,  "  that  it  had  ought  to  be 


A  PEEP   AT   THE   PAST. 

sent  to  his  kin,  but  as  I  don't  know  nothin'  where  to  find 
them,  it  can't  do  no  harm  to  give  it  to  Walter." 

With  an  eager  hand  it  was  grasped,  but,  unwilling  to 
expose  the  intense  interest  it  excited,  he  laid  it  on  the 
table.  He  had  just  done  so  when  the  landlord  of  the 
inn  at  the  lower  village  entered,  bringing  a  valise,  which 
he  said  belonged  to  the  gentleman. 

Here  was  farther  matter  for  investigation — perhaps 
more  evidence.  But,  though,  in  addition  to  the  right  ex 
ercised  on  such  occasions,  in  order  to  ascertain  the  name 
and  friends  of  the  individual,  they  felt  that  they  had 
peculiar  claims  to  the  fullest  inquiry,  this,  for  obvious  rea 
sons,  could  only  be  made  without  witnesses.  Mr.  Graf- 
ton  was  therefore  compelled  to  disappoint  the  evident 
curiosity  by  saying  that  he  would  make  the  necessary 
investigations  in  proper  season ;  and  he  then  quietly  re 
moved  the  articles  to  a  place  of  safety.  The  prevailing 
idea  that  the  stranger  had  been  in  some  way  connected 
with  himself  or  Walter,  and  the  character  of  Mr.  Graf- 
ton,  prevented  all  complaint. 

That  Mr.  Grafton  did  make  such  investigation,  and 
that  he  did  find  matter  of  the  deepest  interest  to  Walter, 
is  all  that  is,  at  present,  needful  to  communicate  to  the 
reader.  To  the  village  public  it  was  proper  to  be  ex 
plicit  on  one  point — the  name  and  condition  of  the  de 
ceased.  Mr.  Grafton,  therefore,  lost  no  time  in  making 
known  that  the  unfortunate  person  was  proved  to  be 
Captain  Talbot,  an  Englishman,  having  friends  in  New 
York,  to  which  place,  immediately  after  the  funeral,  he 
should  himself  proceed,  in  order  to  convey  the  articles 
in  his  possession,  and  to  communicate  the  intelligence 
of  his  death. 


396  WALTEK  THOKNLEY;  OK, 


CHAPTER  XXXVIII. 

THE  oculist  had  not  disappointed  the  expectation  of 
Mr.  Lawrence  and  his  family.  His  fine  constitution, 
little  impaired  except  by  occasional  attacks  of  gout, 
and  his  hopeful  temperament,  coming  in  aid  of  a  real 
ly  skillful  operator,  the  ultimate  restoration  of  the  eye 
was  soon  pronounced  certain,  and  a  short  time  put 
it  in  a  condition  to  be  used  under  some  restrictions. 
This,  together  with  the  assiduities  of  his  children,  and 
the  effect  of  agreeable  change,  seemed  to  rejuvenate 
him.  He  was  pleased  with  every  thing  and  every  body. 
He  forbore  to  discuss  politics  with  Mr.  Meredith,  with 
whom  he  never  agreed ;  or,  if  sometimes  betrayed  into 
a  collision,  dropped  it  voluntarily  when  it  grew  too 
warm ;  was  not  vexed  when  his  daughter  sympathized 
more  with  her  husband's  views  than  with  his  own ;  did 
not  consider  it  a  personal  injury  if  Miss  Lawrence  had 
a  headache,  and,  to  Eleanor's  especial  satisfaction,  re 
instated  her  entirely  in  his  favor.  He  could  even  see, 
without  offense,  that  Oscar  Middleton  excited  in  her  a 
very  different  interest  from  that  which  Master  Philip 
had  done,  though,  in  his  private  opinion,  the  ruddy, 
handsome  face,  vigorous  frame,  and  manly  air  of  the  lat 
ter  "  were  worth  a  hundred  such  pale-visaged  slips ;  but 
if  girls  would  be  fools  he  couldn't  help  it." 

Oscar,  indeed,  did  interest  Eleanor  more  than  he  had 
done  heretofore.  His  tender  sadness  came  nearer  her 
heart  than  his  thoughtless,  happy  g&yQty.  Formerly 
she  laughed  with  him,  but  could  forget  him  ;  now,  with 
all  the  sensibility  of  her  own  nature  awakened,  she  was 


A   PEEP   AT  THE   PAST.  397 

the  more  strongly  drawn  toward  him.  If  he  were  silent, 
she  became  so ;  if  he  smiled,  she  rejoiced ;  if  he  were 
sad,  she  was  only  the  more  thoughtful  for  him.  Her 
young  friends  had  greeted  her  return  with  welcomes  and 
invitations,  but  she  resisted  whatever  interfered  with 
kind  considerations  for  Oscar.  To  cheer  him  when  pres 
ent,  to  pity  him  when  absent,  became  a  habit,  the  more 
confirmed  by  his  reliance  on  her. 

The  improvement  in  Miss  Lawrence,  if  not  as  great  as 
in  her  father,  was  more  striking,  because  that,  on  her  first 
arrival,  a  more  than  usual  languor  and  dejection  were  vis 
ible.  Years  had  elapsed  since  her  last  visit  to  her  sis 
ter.  Many  changes  had  taken  place.  Past  scenes,  of 
which  every  heart  bears  indelible  impressions,  were  re 
vived,  and  she  had  often  cause  to  reprove  herself  for  not 
being  happier  now  that  the  family  harmony,  the  loss  of 
which  she  had  so  much  deplored,  was  restored.  But  the 
cloud  passed,  and  she,  too,  was  cheerful — grateful  for  the 
love  bestowed,  and  especially  for  the  sweet  attentions  of 
Eleanor,  who,  like  a  ministering  spirit,  dispensed  good 
to  each  and  to  all.  Ah !  had  she  found  out  thus  early 
that  the  true  secret  of  quieting  our  own  hearts  is  to 
cheer  others ;  that  secret  which  some  never  learn  ? 

A  fine  afternoon  and  the  solicitations  of  Eleanor  had 
tempted  her  aunt  beyond  the  limit  of  her  usual  walk, 
and,  on  their  entering  the  study  by  the  garden  door,  she 
perceived  that  she  looked  pale  and  wearied. 

"  I  have  been  a  foolish  girl,"  said  Eleanor,  "  but,  when 
I  get  among  those  trees,  they  always  cheat  me  into  go 
ing  too  far.  Dear  aunt,  let  me  arrange  a  couch  for  you 
here.  You  are  too  tired  to  take  another  step.  See! 
there  is  the  settee  on  the  piazza,  and  here,"  said  she,  fill 
ing  her  arms  as  she  spoke,  "  are  these  sofa-cushions ; 
they  will  make  a  nice  resting-place  for  you.  I'll  carry 
them  out,  and  have  it  ready  in  a  minute." 


398  WALTER  THORNLEY;  OR, 

"No,  no,  my  love;  I'll  go  to  my  room.  Some  one 
may  come,  and  I  should  not  fancy  to  be  thus  caught." 

"Nobody  will  come;  nobody  ever  does  come  here 
now,"  replied  Eleanor,  with  a  sigh.  "  There  will  only 
be  the  sun  to  look  at  you,  and  he  is  about  taking  his 
rest  too ;  he  is  so  low  he  can  only  peep  at  you  through 
the  branches." 

Miss  Lawrence  was  not  one  of  the  resisting  order; 
and,  telling  Eleanor  she  always  made  her  do  as  she 
pleased,  she  yielded  to  the  arrangement. 

The  cushions  being  so  placed  as  to  support  her,  she 
permitted  herself  to  be  disposed  of,  sitting  or  reclining, 
as  Eleanor  fancied,  who,  hovering  about  her,  delighted 
herself  by  contriving,  like  a  playful  child,  the  most  be 
coming  adjustment.  The  simple  white  veil,  taken  from 
her  hat,  was  so  thrown  as  to  shade,  and  yet  add  another 
grace  to  her  face.  A  shawl  of  many  dyes  was  cast  as  a 
drapery  over  her ;  one  hand  supported  her  cheek,  and 
the  other  reposed,  as  Eleanor  said,  "beautifully  negli 
gent"  among  the  flowers  they  had  gathered  in  their 
walk,  and  which  appeared  to  have  fallen  from  its  grasp 
into  her  lap. 

She  contemplated  her  work  admiringly.  Her  aunt 
laughed. 

"  You  have  placed  me  like  a  lay  figure.  Now  what 
do  you  propose  to  do  with  me?  You  see  I  can  resist 
none  of  your  vagaries." 

"  Oh,  if  I  could  sketch  you  just  as  you  now  are !  but 
I  can  not.  Therefore  I  shall  put  you  to  sleep.  Now 
not  another  word !  but  shut  your  eyes  like  a  good  child." 

As  if  under  the  spell  gf  her  irresistible  attendant,  Miss 
Lawrence  obeyed;  and  Eleanor,  in  a  little  while,  satis 
fied  that  she  really  slept,  stole  quietly  into  the  study, 
and  thence  into  the  hall,  to  prevent  any  intrusion  from 
that  quarter. 


A  PEEP  AT  THE   PAST.  399 

The  sweet  air,  the  perfect  quiet,  the  soft  light, 

"Prolonged  the  balmy  rest." 

At  length  a  foot  crossed  the  threshold  of  the  garden 
door,  and  a  gentleman  cast  an  inquiring  look  within,  as  if 
in  quest  of  some  one.  He  entered ;  but,  finding  nobody, 
ventured  to  approach  the  glass  door  communicating  with 
the  piazza.  His  step  was  light,  like  that  of  one  who 
fears  to  intrude,  and  yet  who  is  impelled  to  advance. 
As  he  does  so,  he  passes  the  door  and  sees  a  sleeping- 
lady  1  Instinctively  he  retreats ;  another  look,  and  he 
advances.  A  thought  seems  to  kindle  up  his  face.  He 
proceeds,  regardless  of  proprieties ;  his  lips  move,  but  no 
sound  escapes.  His  countenance  and  manner  evince 
surprise,  eager  interest,  and  yet  timidity.  He  moves 
nearer,  and  still  nearer.  He  pauses ;  and  then,  with  a 
noiseless  step,  he  is  by  the  side  of  the  unconscious  sleep 
er.  He  gazes ;  his  soul  seems  looking  from  his  eyes ! 
One  instant,  and  they  have  detected  the  fair  hand  among 
the  flowers ;  the  next  he  is  on  his  knee,  the  hand  is  in 
his,  and  his  lip  is  pressed  on  a  simple  gold  ring !  The 
action  has  roused  the  lady ;  she  wakes  to  hear  "  Mary !" 
uttered  in  a  voice  which,  though  silent  to  her  outward 
ear,  has  never,  through  long,  long  years,  ceased  to  speak 
to  her  heart.  Speech  fails  her.  Does  she  still  sleep  ? 
Does  she  dream  ?  That  face,  changed,  yet  still  the  same, 
is  it  a  reality  ?  Those  eyes, 

"Once  so  dear, 
Long,  long  ago — long  ago!" 

are  they,  indeed,  bent  on  her  ? 

Another  pressure  of  her  hand,  that  name,  now  dis 
used,  perhaps  forgotten  by  all  but  himself,  again  utter 
ed,  assure  her  of  the  living  presence  of  one  whom  she 
had  never  thought  to  see  again  this  side  of  Heaven,  and 
she  ventures  to  say,  in  a  low  and  timid  voice,  "  Graf- 
ton?" 


400  WALTER  THORNLEY;    OR, 

"Yes,  Mary,"  he  exclaimed;  "I  should  doubt  my 
own  identity  if  you  did  not  admit  it.  Could  we  ever 
fail  to  recognize  each  other?" 

Still  she  looked  at  him,  immovable,  wondering — tears 
filling  her  asking  eyes. 

"I  know  what  you  would  say,"  said  he,  rising;  and, 
assisting  her  attempt  to  do  the  same,  he  placed  himself 
by  her  side.  "  You  would  ask  why  I  am  here  ?  Here 
of  all  places?  There  is  much  to  tell  you,  dear  Mary, 
but  at  another  time.  Now,  I  will  only  say  that  urgent 
business  brought  me  to  New  York.  I  could  not  be 
there,  and  not  see  your  sister  and  Mr.  Meredith,  always 
my  friends.  Failing  to  find  him  at  his  office,  I  came 
hither;  of  your  being  here  I  had  not  the  remotest 
thought.  In  my  ignorance  of  the  house  I  blundered  in 
at  the  wrong  entrance,  and  was  led,  not  by  chance,  but 
by  Heaven,  to  you — never,  so  help  me  God,  to  be  again 
parted  from  you !" 

A  cloud  overspread  her  fair  brow.  A  deprecating 
look — a  deep  sigh,  were  the  only  answer. 

"  I  understand  you.  You  would  say  the  same  obsta 
cles  exist.  They  may,  but  they  shall  no  longer  prevail. 
Mary,"  continued  he,  with  solemnity,  "you  love  me 
still.  If  time,  as  I  sometimes  feared,  had  worn  me  out 
of  your  affection,  I  would  be  silent.  But  your  look, 
your  manner,  this  sacred  symbol  never  laid  aside,  attest 
your  fidelity." 

She  attempted  to  speak,  but  he  continued  earnestly : 

"  Oh,  hear  me  farther.  The  happiness  of  our  lives 
has  been  sacrificed  by  a  weak  submission  to  a  false  prin 
ciple.  It  shall  be  so  no  longer.  I  will  claim  you  as  my 
wife.  I  ought  to  have  done  so  when  you  were  first  torn 
from  me." 

A  loving  but  weeping  face,  eyes  upturned  as  if  im 
ploring  strength  from  above,  betrayed  the  conflict  his 
words  had  excited. 


A  PEEP  AT  THE   PAST.  401 

"  Oh,  that  is  not  all !"  she  at  length  said.  "  If  no  op 
position — there  are — other  considerations.  How  can  I 
impose  a  wreck  upon  you?  upon  you,  still  capable  of 
happiness?  How  can  I  burden  you  with  the  poor  re 
mains  of  what,  even  in  its  best  estate,  was  not  worth  the 
love  you  lavished  on  it  ?  No,  no,  no ;  it  is  wrong,  un 
generous  ;  I  should  be  humbled  to  the  dust  were  I  to 
do  so." 

"  Mary !  Mary !"  said  Mr.  Grafton,  in  a  tender  but  re 
proachful  tone,  "is  this  the  language  you  should  hold  to 
me?  Were  you,  indeed,  the  wreck  you  fear,  should  I 
not  love  the  ruin  I  perhaps  had  caused?  And  has  not 
time  done  its  work  on  me  too  ?  But  I  will  not  so  wrong 
true  love  as  to  rest  it  on  the  outward  creature.  I  could, 
indeed,  dear  Mary,  still  address  to  you  the  words  of  mere 
human  affection ;  could  tell  you  that  I  love  you  in  that 
sense  that  satisfies  most  women ;  that  I  had  not  outlived 
my  youthful  passion ;  that  no  conceivable  happiness  could 
equal  the  possession  of  you ;  that — " 

"  Do  not — do  not  speak  so !  You  deceive  yourself. 
I  am  nothing — nothing." 

"No,  I  will  not;  but  rather  of  that  union  of  heart, 
mind,  and  soul,  that  time  has  only  strengthened.  To 
this  union  I  claim  the  right  of  setting  that  seal  which 
God  has  Himself  appointed,  not  alone  for  present  hap 
piness,  but  as  an  earnest  of  that  still  better  union  for 
which  it  is  a  preparation.  Do  not,  then,  disturb  your 
own  mind  and  distress  me  by  considerations  unworthy 
of  us  both." 

Her  tears  flowed  faster.  She  could  only  say,  "You 
are  too  good — too  good ;  I  do  not  deserve  it." 

He  looked  at  her  in  silence ;  then  in  a  tender  and  ad 
miring  tone,  rather  as  if  thinking  aloud,  said,  "Still 
the  same !  humble,  gentle,  self-distrusting ;  still,  as  in 
the  language  of  my  youth,  'My  lovely  Mary !' " 


402 

What  could  woman — true,  believing  woman — say? 
Her  heart  was  on  her  lips,  ready  to  pour  forth  all  he 
could  ask,  but  a  cruel  fear  restrained  her,  and  a  look 
of  agony  overspread  her  face,  as  she  said,  "My  father! 
my  promise !" 

"Bless  you,  Mary,  that  you  insist  on  no  other  obstacle ! 
Your  father's  objections  shall  be  met  with  all  respect; 
but,  if  still  immovable — I  say  it  deliberately — I  will  dis 
regard  them." 

"But  my  promise,"  she  repeated. 

"I  am  the  last  person  to  make  light  of  it;  but  we 
must  not  let  reverence  exaggerate  itself  into  superstition. 
That  promise  was  made  under  circumstances  which  de 
prived  you  of  free  agency. '  Only  a  tender,  conscientious 
spirit,  like  your  own,  would  have  held  it  obligatory  to 
the  extent  that  you  have  done.  We  have  both  been 
sacrificed  to  it.  Your  mother,  could  she  have  foreseen 
its  consequences,  would  never  have  exacted  it;  and,  if 
now  comprehending  what  passes  here,  will  rejoice  in  the 
breach  of  it." 

His  calmness  restored  her  own. 

"Hear  me,"  said  she,  "for  a  moment,  and  then  you 
must  leave  me.  You  are  not  aware  that  my  father  is 
now  in  this  house.  I  can  not  permit  you  to  meet  him 
at  present.  I  must  have  time  to  reflect.  Let  me  decide 
as  I  may,  I  have  need  of  a  strength  that  now  I  do  not 
feel.  Leave  me ;  you  shall  hear  from  me  to-morrow." 

"  Do  with  me  as  you  please.  I  shall  go,  but  in  the 
confident  trust,  not  alone  of  hearing  from  you,  but  of 
seeing  you,  to-morrow." 

"  Go !  go !"  said  she,  earnestly,  the  dread  of  her  father 
taking  possession  of  her. 

He  comprehended  her  fear,  passed  from  the  piazza 
through  the  garden,  and  retreated,  unseen,  as  he  had  en 
tered. 


A  PEEP  AT  THE   PAST.  403 

Left  to  herself,  Miss  Lawrence's  first  care  was  to  escape 
to  the  privacy  of  her  own  room,  which  she  reached  un- 
perceived,  even  by  Eleanor,  who,  occupied  by  visitors 
during  the  tete-a-tete  on  the  piazza,  had  relaxed  her  care 
of  her  aunt,  and  was  now  otherwise  engaged. 


404:  WALTER  THORNLEY;  OR, 


CHAPTER  XXXIX. 

MR.  Lawrence,  in  a  happy  unconsciousness  of  what 
was  going  on  elsewhere,  reclined  in  his  chair  in  the  din 
ing-room,  and  near  him,  at  the  tea-table,  was  Mrs.  Mere 
dith. 

After  an  interval  of  silence,  Mr.  Lawrence  asked  the 
hour — "  Tea-time,  is  it  not?" 

"  Yes,  sir.  Will  you  take  it  now,  or  shall  we  wait 
for  Mr.  Meredith?  He  will  be  here  in  a  few  mo 
ments." 

Now,  usually,  Mr.  Lawrence  abhorred  waiting  for  any 
body,  but  he  was  not  in  a  mood  to  be  easily  ruffled. 

"  Oh  no ;  wait  by  all  means." 

Another  pause. 

"  Where  is  Eleanor?"  he  asked. 

"  Gone  to  pass  the  evening  with  some  of  her  young 
friends." 

Mr.  Lawrence  particularly  disliked  the  absence  of  any 
of  the  family  at  meals,  but  now  he  only  said  he  was  glad 
of  it. 

A  servant  entered  with  a  note  from  Mr.  Meredith. 
He  was  detained  in  the  city ;  should  not  be  at  home  till 
the  next  day. 

Mr.  Lawrence  could  bear  this  too ;  for,  though  he  en 
tirely  respected  Mr.  Meredith,  they  were,  as  the  Italians 
say,  not  sympatici ;  and  the  presence  of  neither  added 
much  to  the  happiness  of  the  other. 

"  Well,  then,  we'll  have  tea,  Janet,  if  you  please,"  said 
he,  and,  Mrs.  Meredith  ringing  the  bell,  Phyllis  was  di 
rected  to  tell  Miss  Lawrence  it  was  ready. 


A   PEEP   AT   THE   PAST.  -i05 

She  returned  in  a  few  moments,  and,  dropping  a 
courtesy  to  the  old  gentleman,  as  if  deprecating  the  ef 
fect  of  the  answer  she  brought,  said,  "  Missis  not  well, 
massa,  and  can't  come  down,  she  say." 

This  was  a  sound  seldom  heard  patiently  by  Mr. 
Lawrence. 

"  Not  well !  "What's  the  matter  now  ?  She  was  well 
enough  at  dinner." 

"  Dun  know,  massa.  Missis  looks  berry  sick ;  neber 
seed  missis  look  so  afore." 

"  Do,  Janet,  go  up  and  see  what  it  is.  These  creatures 
always  make  every  thing  as  bad  as  they  can." 

Mrs.  Meredith  did  not  need  the  injunction.  Hurrying 
to  her  sister's  room,  she  found  her  in  a  state  that,  as 
Phyllis  had  said,  was  unusual,  and  which,  knowing  no 
cause  for  it,  she  naturally  referred  to  physical  indisposi 
tion.  Miss  Lawrence  was  in  bed,  with  a  quickened  and 
irregular  pulse,  a  feverish  cheek,  and  a  strange,  excited 
look  quite  unlike  herself.  But  she  spoke  calmly,  and, 
not  daring  then  to  attempt  an  explanation,  only  begged 
to  be  alone  and  quiet,  and  doubted  not  that  she  should 
be  well  in  the  morning. 

Mrs.  Meredith  left  her,  as  she  requested,  but  not  much 
assured  by  what  she  had  said ;  and  Mr.  Lawrence,  on 
hearing  it,  put  down  his  scarce  tasted  tea,  pushed  his 
chair  from  the  table,  and,  leaning  back  in  it,  sighed 
heavily. 

His  daughter,  to  relieve  him,  repeated  her  sister's 
words,  "  She  will  be  better  in  the  morning,  sir." 

"No,  she  won't,"  he  replied,  quickly,  "nor  the  next 
day,  nor  the  next,  nor  never ;  never,  I  tell  you !" 

"  Dear  papa,  even  if  she  should  be  indisposed  for  a 
few  days,  there  can  be  no  cause  for  uneasiness.  We 
will  send  for  Doctor  Bayley  in  the  morning." 

"  Doctor  Fiddlestick  1     Do  you  suppose  I'm  an  ass, 


406  WALTER  THORNLEY;  OR, 

Janet  ?  All  the  drugs  in  the  Materia  Medica  can't  help 
her!" 

"  Why,  papa !"  expostulated  Mrs.  Meredith.  "  There 
is  surely  nothing  in  Gertrude's  indisposition  to  excite 
alarm." 

" Pshaw,  child!  I  don't  suppose  she's  going  to  die; 
perhaps  it  would  be  better  that  she  should.  She  would 
go  to  heaven,  and  I  might  be  made  more  fit  for  it.  But 
she  won't  die ;  she  will  live,  and  she  will  suffer ;  and  so 
it  always  is.  I  never  see  a  little  sunshine,  I  never  feel 
happy  and  cheery,  but  some  cursed  thing  turns  up  to 
contradict  me.  I  am  a  miserable  man — I  am." 

"Dear  papa,  don't  say  so." 

"  I  will  say  so.  Here  she  has  been  so  well  and  cheer 
ful  that,  old  fool  as  I  am,  I  thought  she  would  continue 
so ;  that,  at  last,  she  was  happy ;  and  my  heart  was  light 
er  than  it  has  been  for  years ;  and  now — now  it's  all 
over !  the  same  dark  cloud  again !" 

" Oh  no,  sir;  this  is  some  accidental  thing — some  lit 
tle  nervous  derangement." 

"  Ay,  yes ;  there  it  is,  those  infernal  nerves !  Don't  I 
know  what  that  means  ?" 

"  Nothing  mysterious,  papa ;  every  body  knows  what 
nerves  mean." 

"The  devil  they  do!  I  wish  I  did;  I  only  know 
that  they  mean  misery.  Oh  Lord !  I  wish  I  was  dead." 

"My  dear  father,"  interposed  Mrs.  Meredith;  but,  re 
sisting  her  sympathy,  he  suddenly  exclaimed,  "Where 
is  that  fellow?" 

Mrs.  Meredith,  perhaps  not  comprehending,  did  not 
speak. 

" Is  he  in  this  country?" 

Still  she  was  silent. 

"Is  he  alive?" 

Mrs.  Meredith,  as  if  like  the  jester  and  the  sultan  in 


A    PEEP   AT   THE    PAST.  407 

the  Oriental  tale,  she  were  resolved  to  compel  her  father 
first  to  pronounce  the  prohibited  name,  sat  speechless. 

"  Where  does  he  hide  himself?"  continued  Mr.  Law 
rence. 

"Whom  do  you  mean,  papa?"  at  length  she  asked. 

"You  know,  very  well,"  he  replied,  impatiently. 
"  Whom  should  I  mean,  but  the  man  who  has  caused 
all  this  trouble — Grafton !  I  say,  where  is  he  ?" 

"  He  is  living,  sir,  and  in  this  country — in  New  En 
gland." 

"Why,  then,  have  I  never  been  able  to  hear  of  him? 
Why  have  not  you,  or  your  husband,  by  any  chance 
ever  spoken  of  him  ?  Why  have  I  been  kept  in  igno- 
"rance?"  His  rising  displeasure  forced  Mrs.  Meredith 
on  her  defense. 

"  You  must  recollect,  papa,  that  his  name  has  been 
interdicted  for  years ;  that  every  trace  of  him  has  been 
purposely  obliterated ;  even  his  portrait  saved  from  de 
struction  only  on  the  condition  of  being  never  seen — " 
she  might  have  added,  that  the  family  breach,  mainly 
occasioned  by  the  sympathy  of  her  husband  and  herself 
with  Mr.  Grafton,  had  prevented  all  communication ;  but 
he  checked  farther  remonstrance  by  saying,  "Well,  well, 
if  it  was  so  then,  now  I  want  to  hear  of  him — nay,  to 
see  him,  if  it  be  possible  to  get  any  comfort  out  of  him. 
Can  he  not  be  written  to?" 

"Certainly;  but  to  what  purpose,  sir?" 

"Janet,  don't  drive  me  mad!  To  what  purpose? 
Why  to  bring  him  here,  and  marry  him  to  Gertrude." 

Mrs.  Meredith  was  dumb  with  astonishment. 

After  some  hesitation  she  replied, 

"My  sister  would  not  approve  of  such  a  step,  I  am 
sure,  and  might  not  consent  if  he  were  to  come." 

"  Oh,  I  dare  say  !  As  soon  as  I  propose  any  thing, 
though  it  has  been  sighed  for  through  a  lifetime,  it  is 


408  WALTER  THORNLEY;  OR, 

enough  to  prevent  it.  Just  like  my  family!  Never 
was  a  man  so  contradicted !  But  I  say  it  shall  be  done. 
I  won't  live  so  any  more.  And  pray  why  should  she 
object?" 

"  You  must  allow,  papa,  for  the  feelings  of  a  delicate 
woman.  Even  if  her  own  are  the  same  toward  him,  she 
may  naturally  fear  a  change  in  his  sentiments." 

11  Sentiments !  Oh,  he  has  nerves  too,  eh !  Of  course, 
sentiments  and  nerves — they  always  go  together." 

"Or,  perhaps,"  continued  Mrs.  Meredith,  "she  may 
fear  the  effect  of  time  on  her  appearance." 

"Appearance!"  interrupted  he,  angrily,  "why,  there 
isn't  a  prettier  woman  this  day  in  the  United  States  of 
her  age — no,  nor  even  younger.  She's  only  a  hundred 
times  too  handsome  for  him !  Object  to  Gertrude,  in 
deed!" 

" Oh  no,  sir,  I  did  not  say  that!  I  merely  suggested 
a  natural  apprehension  on  her  part.  You  know,  sir," 
added  she,  with  a  smile,  "we  women  have  our  weak 
points,  and  that  is  one  of  them.  But  besides,  sir,  Mr. 
Grafton  has  been  ill  treated — at  least,  so  he  thinks — and 
we  can  not  be  surprised  if  that  should  render  the  con 
nection  undesirable.  In  short,  sir,  I  must  beg  you  will 
not  insist  on  my  writing  as  you  propose." 

But  Mr.  Lawrence,  having  taken  the  first  great  step, 
le  pas  qui  coute — having  sacrificed  his  pride,  his  will, 
his  personal  resentment — was  not  a  man  now  to  stop. 
Opposition  and  doubt  only  stimulated  his  determina 
tion. 

"Yery  well;  if  you  won't  write,  Meredith  will;  and 
if  he  won't,  Eleanor  shall.  I  will  have  it  done,  and  that 
before  another  day  passes.  I  am  old — I  must  soon  die 
— I  will  not  any  longer  have  this  man's  face  forever 
thrusting  itself  between  me  and  heaven,  nor  Gertrude's 
complaints  turning  aside  my  prayers." 


A  PEEP  AT  THE  PAST.  409 

"Complaints,  sir!  Surely,  my  sister  never  com 
plains?" 

"  No,  not  in  words.  But  do  you  think  that  to  be  obey 
ed,  cherished,  honored,  as  if  I  had  never  given  her  a  mo 
ment's  pain ;  to  be  waited  on  year  after  year,  as  if  it 
were  not  a  duty,  but  a  delight ;  to  be  borne  with,  how 
ever  unreasonable ;  to  be  watched  when  ill,  as  if  her 
life  hung  on  mine ;  and  to  look  like  an  angel  with  a 
broken  heart !  do  you  think  there  are,  or  can  be,  com 
plaints  louder  than  these  ?" 

Alarmed  by  her  father's  vehemence  and  agitation,  she 
directed  all  her  efforts  to  calm  him,  and  in  some  degree 
succeeded.  He  consented  to  talk  over  the  matter  cool 
ly  with  Mr.  Meredith,  and  above  all  not  to  touch  on  it 
to  his  daughter  at  present. 

This  done,  and  having  induced  him  to  retire  at  an 
early  hour,  with  her  habitual  deference  to  her  husband's 
opinion,  she  suspended  her  final  judgment  till  he  should 
return. 

The  breakfast  was  cheered  by  a  favorable  report  from 
Miss  Lawrence,  and,  while  still  seated  at  the  table,  an 
other  note  was  brought  to  Mrs.  Meredith  from  her  hus 
band.  It  was,  as  may  be  conjectured,  to  inform  her  of 
his  meeting  with  his  old  friend,  Mr.  Grafton.  Her  ex 
clamation  of  pleasure  and  surprise  attracted  the  attention 
of  her  father.  The  explanation  was  no  sooner  given 
than  followed  by  his  earnest  direction  that  the  gentle 
man  should  be  invited  to  the  house  without  delay. 

It  is  enough  to  say  that  Mr.  Grafton  came;  that  a 
conference  with  him  and  Mr.  Lawrence  ensued,  concili 
atory  and  conclusive ;  that  he  was  indulged  in  a  long 
interview  with  Miss  Lawrence,  the  result  of  which  was 
eloquently  inscribed  on  their  happy  and  serene  faces, 
when  they  afterward  joined  the  family  circle. 

Oh,  Love,  when  art  thou  worthiest  of  our  homage  ? 
S 


410  WALTER  THORNLEY;  OR, 

In  our  morn  of  youth — like  the  coming  of  day,  joyous 
and  beautiful,  yet  often  capricious,  and  failing  of  thy 
rich  promise?  In  our  noon — fervid,  full  of  mastery, 
maddening  and  destroying  some,  though  leading  others 
by  flowery  paths  and  beside  still  waters  ?  Ah !  rather 
when,  long  tried,  thy  mellowed  lights  stream  through  our 
lengthening  shadows,  soft  as  at  the  evening  hour,  when 
from  the  blue  depths  of  heaven  to  the  golden  horizon  no 
cloud  is  seen,  and  no  rude  sound  disturbs  the  harmonies 
of  nature ! 


A   PEEP   AT   THE    PAST.  411 


CHAPTER  XL. 

ELEANOR'S  sympathy  with  her  aunt  was,  as  might  be 
expected,  full  and  demonstrative.  She  could  speak  of 
nothing  but  the  happiness  that  was  at  last  to  reward  her 
sweet  and  patient  life,  and  loved  to  dwell  on  every  thing 
that  could  add  to  it  interest  or  romance. 

"Ah!  that  ring,"  said  she,  one  day,  to  her;  "how 
often  I  have  wondered  why  you  preferred  it  to  every 
other  ornament ;  and  another  thing,  too,"  turning  to  Mr. 
Grafton,  "Why  is  it  that  you  call  my  aunt  'Mary?'  I 
suppose  there  is  some  secret  about  that  also." 

"  No,  Eleanor ;  none  at  all.  The  names  of  Mary  and 
Gertrude  were  both  given  to  her — the  last  more  gener 
ally  used.  For  this  reason  I  preferred  the  first.  It  was, 
perhaps,"  added  he,  with  a  smile,  "  a  lover's  fancy — of 
which  you  now,  I  dare  say,  wonder  that  I  could  ever 
have  been  capable — but  it  seemed  to  make  her  more  my 
own  to  address  her  as  few  others  did.  After  her  moth 
er's  death,  I  now  understand  that  your  grandfather  di 
rected  that  '  Gertrude,'  her  name,  should  be  exclusively 
used,  and  '  Mary'  lived  only  in  my  memory." 

Entering  thus  into  her  aunt's  interests,  Eleanor  con 
ceived  the  greatest  liking  for  Mr.  Grafton.  His  good 
ness,  his  dignified  yet  simple  manners,  his  refined  yet 
playful  ways,  were  her  constant  theme.  It  is  but  fair 
to  say  that,  like  every  thing  in  Eleanor,  the  sentiment 
was  genuine.  It  had  nothing  to  do  with  Walter,  of 
whose  intimate  relations  with  Mr.  Grafton  she  was  still 
ignorant,  that  gentleman  having  reasons  to  be  no  farther 
communicative  on  that  subject  than  he  had  formerly 


412  WALTER  THORNLEY;  OR, 

been.  On  the  contrary,  his  manner,  when  speaking  of 
him,  was  the  only  thing  she  did  not  like  in  Mr.  Graf- 
ton. 

"  That  was  a  respectable  young  man,"  said  Mr.  Mere 
dith,  one  day,  "  whom  you  were  so  good  as  to  send  to 
us — Mr.  Thornley,  I  mean.  We  were  quite  sorry  to  part 
with  him.  I  hope  he  is  likely  to  do  well." 

"Yes,  I  think  so,"  said  Mr.  Grafton,  coldly. 

Eleanor  colored  and  bit  her  lips. 

"  He  was  a  well-mannered  young  man  too,"  continued 
Mr. Meredith;  " rather  remarkably  so,  in  his  condition. 
Not  at  all  presuming — appeared  to  understand  his  place 
as  well  as  his  business,  which  is  not  common  in  these 
days.  I  shall  always  be  happy  to  see  him,  and  to  be  of 
use  to  him." 

"  I  am  glad  he  gave  you  satisfaction,"  was  all  the  re 
ply  vouchsafed ;  and  Eleanor,  feeling  her  anger  rising 
against  them  both,  fled  out  of  the  room. 

Walter's  sudden  and  never-explained  removal  from 
Mr.  Meredith's  family,  together  with  its  obvious  effect 
on  him,  had  been  a  cause  of  painful  conjecture  to  Mr. 
Grafton.  When  he  saw  Eleanor,  he  was  confirmed  in 
his  suspicion  that  it  was  connected  with  her.  It  was 
not  easy  to  believe  that  he  could  have  remained  indif 
ferent  when  placed  in  such  relations  to  such  a  girl.  He 
only  wondered  that  her  parents  had  permitted  her  to  be 
exposed  to  a  similar  danger,  and  if  the  interest  were,  in 
deed,  wholly  on  his  side.  She  became,  therefore,  a  study 
to  him. 

In  the  evening,  as  he  sat  by  her  side,  he  said,  "  I  have 
not  heard  your  opinion  of  the  teacher  I  sent  you.  Did 
you  like  him  ?  I  mean,  of  course,  only  as  an  instruct 
or." 

Yexed  to  have  her  estimate  so  restricted,  she  replied, 
coldly,  "  Oh  yes,  very  well." 


A  PEEP  AT  THE  PAST.  413 

"  Did  you  take  your  lessons  quite  alone,  or  was  a  class 
formed  for  him?" 

"  A  class !  What  an  idea  I  Share  those  precious  les 
sons  !  What  a  suggestion !" 

She  repeated,  with  an  affronted  air,  "A  class!  No, 
indeed!" 

"  It  is  a  good  plan,  however,"  said  Mr.  Grafton.  "  It 
furnishes  a  stimulus  and  an  excitement  to  what  might 
otherwise  be  dull." 

"What  a  mind  it  must  be,"  thought  she,  "that  lie 
could  not  stimulate !  What  a  spirit  that  could  be  dull 
in  his  presence!  'Tis  plain  he  knows  very  little  of 
Walter." 

"  But,  perhaps,"  resumed  Mr.  Grafton,  "  he  did  not 
wish  it — I  mean,  did  not  think  it  best  for  you.  You 
might  not  have  required  it;  his  undivided  attention 
would  advance  you  more  rapidly." 

Still  Eleanor  did  not  speak ;  she  dared  not  She  was 
irritated.  She  feared  to  betray  it ;  and,  deceived  by  her 
manner,  he  reflected,  "Ah,  poor  Walter!  I  see  the 
young  lady  is  not  pleased ;  and  why  ?  There  is  but  one 
solution  —  she  has  detected,  and  resents  his  presump 
tion." 

Her  conduct  to  Oscar  Middleton  confirmed  his  suspi 
cion.  Yet,  if  she  were,  indeed,  unfriendly  to  his  favor 
ite,  he  could  not  be  unjust  to  her;  and,  seeing  daily 
more  and  more  of  her  attractive  qualities,  he  became 
still  more  regretful  of  the  hard  fate  of  Walter. 

Nearly  a  fortnight  had  elapsed  since  the  arrival  of  Mr. 
Grafton,  when  divers  family  tetes-d-tetes  might  have  been 
observed ;  Mr.  Meredith  and  Mr.  Grafton  closeted  in  the 
library ;  Mrs.  Meredith  with  her  sister,  in  her  room. 
Mr.  Lawrence  and  Eleanor — the  oldest  and  the  youngest 
most  approximating  —  whispered,  laughed,  and  took 
counsel  together — he  in  his  arm-chair,  she  on  a  low  seat 
at  his  feet. 


OB, 

"  I  will  have  it  so,"  said  he.  It  was  uttered  impera 
tively,  but  pleasantly. 

"  'Tis  all  nonsense  to  put  it  off!  What  are  they  wait 
ing  for?  They  are  old  enough ;  eh,  Eleanor?  Come  to 
years  of  discretion  !  Don't  you  think  so,  little  Nelly  ? 
Well  enough  acquainted,  eh?" 

"  Oh  yes,  dear  grandpapa,  you  are  quite  right.  Why 
should  people  ever  wait  to  be  happy  ?  If  mamma  can 
only  persuade  Aunt  Gertrude — : 

"  We'll  do  it  first,  and  persuade  her  afterward,"  said 
Mr.  Lawrence,  with  his  usual  impatience.  "  I  will  not 
hear  of  any  silly  delay.  Why,  I  may  die  in  a  week — 
in  a  day — and  I  will  see  it  first." 

Then  followed  half-whispered  suggestions,  smiles  of 
intelligence,  and  exclamations  of  "All  right!  that's  a 
good  girl !  a  very  good  girl !  You  shall  be  married,  too, 
one  of  these  days." 

Then,  drawing  out  a  well-filled  purse,  he  put  it  into 
Eleanor's  hand,  adding,  "Just  as  you  please,  Leentje; 
as  much  more  if  you  want  it."  Upon  which,  kissing 
him  gratefully,  she  hurried  away.  Meeting  her  mother, 
her  eager  inquiry  was  answered  by  a  smile  and  nod  of 
assent,  accompanied  by  "The  very  thing!  she  would 
never  have  given  a  thought  to  it."  Upon  which,  Elea 
nor  rang  the  bell,  ordered  the  carriage,  flew  down  stairs, 
and,  in  a  few  minutes,  was  on  her  way  to  the  city. 

A  few  days'  interval,  and  paper  boxes  of  various  sizes 
were  smuggled  into  the  house,  and  into  Eleanor's  room, 
where  Mrs.  Meredith  was  called  on  to  admire.  Many 
articles  were  presented  for  the  approval  they  without  ex 
ception  received.  The  most  important  was  reserved  for 
the  last — a  silk  dress,  white,  and  yet  not  white,  for,  in 
certain  lights,  it  gave  out  a  faint  shade  of  exquisite  blue, 
and,  over  all,  was  a  lustrous  silvery  hue. 

"  Now  is  not  that  just  what  it  should  be  ?"  exclaim- 


A   PEEP   AT  THE   PAST. 

ed  Eleanor,  delighted.  "The  very  color  of  an  angel's 
wing!" 

"  Ah  !  my  dear  child,  I  fear  my  acquaintance  with  an 
gels  is  not  so  intimate  as  yours.  But  it  is  certainly  the 
very  thing  for  your  aunt." 

One  day  more,  and,  in  the  evening,  the  drawing-room 
lustres  are  lighted.  Though  there  is  no  bustle,  there  is 
arrangement  and  an  air  of  expectation.  In  one  of  the 
arm-chairs  Mr.  Lawrence  reclines ;  in  the  other,  a  ven 
erable-looking  person,  whose  black  gown  and  white 
bands  indicate  his  office ;  and,  on  a  table  near  him,  be 
tween  massive  silver  candlesticks,  lies  a  richly-clasped 
book.  The  two  gentlemen  converse  in  a  subdued  tone, 
and  Mr.  Meredith,  who  walks  up  and  down  the  room, 
with  his  hands,  as  usual,  crossed  behind  his  back,  occa* 
sionally  looks  at  his  watch. 

At  length  the  hall  clock  is  heard  to  strike  eight,  and, 
the  door  opening,  Miss  Lawrence,  led  by  Mr.  Grafton, 
enters,  attended  by  Mrs.  Meredith  and  Eleanor,  and  fol» 
lowed,  at  a  respectful  distance,  by  the  domestics.  The 
clergyman  and  Mr.  Lawrence  rise,  and  the  proper  dispo 
sition  of  all  parties  made,  the  book  is  opened,  and  those 
portentous  words,  "  We  are  gathered  together  here,  in 
the  sight  of  God,  and  in  the  face  of  this  company,  to  join 
together  this  man  and  this  woman  in  holy  matrimony" — 
those  words  so  fraught  with  happiness  or  misery — usher 
in  the  solemn  rite.  Circumstances,  peculiar  to  this  oc 
casion,  give  it  a  more  than  common  interest,  yet  a  sweet 
composure  rests  on  every  face.  A  slight  irregularity  at 
the  moment  of  betrothal  threatens  to  disturb  it.  In 
stead  of  putting  on  the  ring  in  the  usual  manner,  Mr. 
Grafton  is  observed  to  draw  one  off,  press  it  to  his  lips, 
and  then  replace  it.  Some  hearts  beat  quicker,  but  no 
agitation  interrupts  the  holy  benediction,  which  now  sets 
its  seal  to  the  ceremony. 


416  WALTER  THORNLEY  ;    OR, 

Miss  Lawrence's  first  impulse  is  to  seek  her  father — 
she  finds  herself  already  in  his  arms,  his  eyes  full  of  love, 
his  lips  filled  with  blessings.  Eleanor's  heart  is  so  full 
she  can  not  comprehend  how  others  are  so  quiet !  Her 
aunt  presses  her  tenderly  to  her  breast,  but  she  smiles. 
Her  father,  her  mother,  Mr.  Graf  ton,  all  are  softened,  but 
all  are  calm.  She  turns  to  her  grandfather.  He  has 
retreated  to  his  chair ;  his  handkerchief  covers  his  face. 
This  she  can  understand.  She  runs  to  him,  throws  her 
arms  round  his  neck,  and  they  weep  together. 


A  PEEP  AT  THE   PAST.  417 


CHAPTER  XLI. 

MR.  GKAFTON  had  kept  "Walter  informed  of  whatever 
related  to  the  business  that  had  taken  him  to  the  city, 
together  with  that  which  most  nearly  touched  himself. 
A  letter  now  received  announced  his  marriage,  intelli 
gence  welcome  to  "Walter,  but  astonishing  to  Damie,  en 
tirely  unprepared  for  it. 

"Married  1"  she  exclaimed ;  "  well,  of  all  things !  Aft 
er  stayin'  here  till  he  fairly  grow'd  into  the  airth,  to  go 
off  and  get  married !  Taken  in  by  some  artful  slip  of  a 
thing,  jest  fit  to  be  his  darter!  There's  no  trustin'  a 
man !  They're  all  alike  !" 

The  letter  farther  directed  Walter  to  join  Mr.  Grafton 
without  delay,  and  this,  recalling  Damie  from  her  pre 
visions  of  the  domination  of  a  young  wife,  and  the  over 
throw  of  her  own  safer  rule,  she  gave  her  attention  to 
the  necessary  preparations.  But  there  was  something  in 
Walter's  manner  that  she  could  not  explain,  which,  to 
gether  with  certain  other  things  she  had  remarked  of 
late,  disturbed  her.  At  an  early  hour  on  the  following 
morning  he  was  off,  and,  while  she  and  Jed  watched  the 
receding  wagon,  she  said,  "  Jed,  I  feel  uneasy." 

"I  dare  say,"  said  he;  "  women  most  gin'rally  do." 

"No,  no;  but  about  Walter." 

"  I  don't  see  no  occasion  to  buy  trouble.  He  looks 
well  enough." 

"  Oh,  'tisn't  that ;  but  he's  different.  He  isn't  like  oth 
er  folks." 

"  No,  he  never  was ;  that's  why  I  always  liked  him. 
He  is  Walter,  and  he  ain't  nothin'  else.  'Tisn't  every 
one  that  understands  him." 

S2 


418  WALTER  THORNLEY;  OR, 

This  was  touching  a  weak  point. 

"I  think  I'd  ought  to  understand  him  by  this  time, 
if  any  one  does.  He's  nat'rally  quick,  has  considerable 
pride,  and  strong  feelin's ;  but  he's  larned  to  keep  'em 
under,  to  l  rule  his  sperrit,'  as  the  Bible  says,  and  to  be 
always  jest  about  so.  But  lately  he's  in  a  parfect  whirl ; 
never  remembers  nothin',  don't  answer  no  more'n  a  post, 
don't  read  his  books,  don't  do  nothin'.  I  tell  you,  Jed," 
she  added,  in  a  confidential  tone,  "  I  am  afraid  he's  shat 
tered!  I've  obsarved  it  ever  since  that  awful  consarn 
at  the  old  bridge." 

Jed  laughed  outright. 

"No,  no,"  said  he;  "that  was,  be  sure,  an  ugly  busi 
ness,  and  bein'  some  kind  of  acquaintance  made  it  worse. 
But  Walter's  all  right  here,"  tapping  his  head  as  he  spoke. 

"  And  then,"  continued  Damie,  little  affected  by  Jed's 
assurance,  "  to  go  off  and  get  married !  'tis  jest  like  put- 
tin'  a  step-mother  over  the  poor  lad.  That'll  jest  finish 
him." 

"Damie,"  said  Jed,  with  one  of  his  comical  looks,  "I 
respect  you,  and  that's  rayther  more  than  I  can  say  for 
all  women  folks ;  but  you're  human  natur',  Damie,  a'ter 
all.  Now  don't  you  go  for  to  make  out  a  despe'rt  case 
on't,  'cause  a  new  mistress  is  a  comin'.  I  tell  you  Wal 
ter  ain't  a  goin'  to  lose  his  wits,  nor  you  to  lose  your 
home.  Mr.  Grafton  can't  live  without  you  no  more'n 
without  a  head;  and,  as  to  his  young  wife,  she  don't 
know  nothin',  and  you'll  rule  her  jest  as  you  do  him. 
So  keep  quiet,  and  if  you'll  get  breakfast  ready,  perhaps 
I'll  take  some  with  you,  jest  to  keep  up  your  sperrits." 

Walter,  alighting  at  the  stage-house  in  New  York, 
was  met  by  Mr.  Grafton,  who  immediately  transferred 
him  to  the  carriage  of  Mr.  Middleton,  in  waiting  for  him, 
when  they  proceeded  to  the  residence  of  that  gentleman, 
where  he  was  informed  he  was  expected  to  stay. 


A  PEEP  AT  THE   PAST.  419 

It  was  late  in  the  evening  when  they  arrived.  Oscar 
received  him  with  open  arms,  and  saw,  in  the  unusual 
emotion  with  which  Walter  met  him,  only  the  natural 
expression  of  his  sympathy.  His  father,  he  said,  was 
not  at  home,  and  might  be  absent  a  week  longer — a  cir 
cumstance  that  Walter  heard  with  a  sense  of  relief. 

Mr.  Grafton  having  left  the  young  men  to  themselves, 
they  had  much  of  mutual  interest  to  occupy  them. 

A  late  hour  found  them  still  together.  Walter  took 
up  his  candle  to  retire,  but  Oscar  resisted. 

"  Why  go  so  soon  ?"  he  asked ;  "  let  us  make  a  night  of 
it.  You  once,  I  know,  were  a  '  slave  of  the  lamp'  over 
your  books.  Come,  be  as  regardless  of  sleep  for  the  sake 
of  a  friend." 

Walter  replaced  his  light,  and  Oscar  said,  "I  have  a 
great  deal  yet  to  say.  I  have  not  spoken  of  Mrs.  Graf- 
ton.  You  will  like  her,  I  am  sure,  and  not  wonder  at 
the  constancy  of  your  guardian.  We  young  fellows, 
Walter,  are  fond  of  talking  of  undying  love,  and  all  that, 
but  I  never  expected  to  see  such  a  living  proof  of  it.  I 
wonder  if  you  or  I  could  be  capable  of  it." 

"  It  would  depend,  I  imagine,  on  the  object." 

"  Ah !  yes,  indeed ;  and  such  an  object,  I  can  tell  you, 
is  not  often  given,  to  test  a  man's  fidelity.  Why,  Wal 
ter,  she  must  have  been  handsomer  than  even  Eleanor 
Meredith !  There  is  still  a  strong  family  likeness,  but  I 
doubt  if  the  niece  be  equal  to  what  the  aunt  was.  Such 
regular  features ;  and,  then,  that  angelic  look !  which  I 
never  saw  on  any  face  but  one." 

Oscar's  changing  voice  explained  the  allusion.  At 
another  time  Walter  would  have  replied  to  it ;  but  now 
the  words  would  not  come,  and  both  were  silent. 

At  length,  with  an  expression  of  regret  at  the  absence 
of  his  father,  Oscar  added,  "  He  was  called  away  by  the 
affairs  of  that  wretched  man,  Talbot,  who  was  a  connec 
tion  of  his." 


420  WALTEK  THOKNLEY;  OK, 

"Walter  started,  but  did  not  speak,  and  Oscar  pro 
ceeded  : 

"  The  catastrophe  happened,  I  think,  in  your  neigh 
borhood." 

"  Yes ;  you  knew  him  personally  ?" 

"  Oh  yes ;  I've  seen  him  occasionally  from  a  boy,  but 
I  never  liked  him.  Perhaps  it  was  a  mere  prejudice 
founded  on  the  fancy  of  a  child.  I  remember  taking  it 
into  my  head  that  his  visits  always  made  my  father  ill, 
and  I  conceived  a  dread  of  the  mere  sight  him.  Later," 
continued  Oscar,  laughing,  "I  gave  him  the  sobriquet 
of  'the  Wandering  Jew,'  because  he  was  forever  roam 
ing  about,  got  money  nobody  knew  how,  and  never 
seemed  to  grow  older." 

This  was  a  subject  "Walter  could  not  talk  of,  and  both 
again  were  silent. 

Suddenly  Oscar  exclaimed,  "You  have  no  idea  how 
Eleanor  has  improved  since  you  saw  her,  in  face,  per 
son,  manner,  mind.  Then  she  was  a  charming  girl — 
now  she  is  a  bewitching  woman !  With  all  your  phi 
losophy  about  her,  Walter,  which  even  then  I  wondered 
at  you  must  admire  her  now !" 

Walter  did  not  feel  called  upon  to  say  how  recently 
he  had  seen  her,  nor  how  entirely  he  agreed  with  his 
friend. 

"You  mistake  me,"  he  replied,  quietly;  "I  always 
did  her  justice,  I  think." 

"  Justice !  Pshaw !  What  a  word  to  apply  to  Ele 
anor  Meredith !  So  you  really  brought  her  up  before 
the  inexorable  bench  of  your  discriminating  mind,  tried 
and  found  her  worthy  of  approval !  You  '  second  Dan 
iel  come  to  judgment  IV  Why,  Walter,  like  the  knights 
of  old  that  you  and  I  used  to  rant  about,  I  shall  be  com 
pelled  to  defy  you  to  mortal  combat  if  you  do  not  ac 
knowledge  her  peerless  charms  in  warmer  terms." 


A  PEEP  AT  THE  PAST.  421 

"And  by  the  same  right?"  inquired  Walter,  smiling. 

Oscar's  heightened  color  betrayed  more  than  his 
words. 

"No,"  he  replied;  "no,  not  her  avowed  champion 
and  adorer." 

"  Her  silent  one  ?"  asked  Walter,  rather  uneasily.  It 
was  a  topic  on  which  he  could  not  well  banter. 

Oscar  hesitated,  became  embarrassed,  and  then  ex 
claimed,  with  vehemence,  "Why  should  I  deny  it? 
With  you,  at  least,  I  need  have  no  concealments.  Yes, 
Walter,  I  do  love  her — truly,  ardently.  She  charmed 
me  while  still  a  boy ;  you  will,  perhaps,  say  I  am  little 
more  now.  But,  Walter,  I  have  grown  old  fast.  My 
late  experience  has  matured  me.  I  see  her  now  with 
the  eyes  of  a  man — of  one  who  knows  his  own  wants — 
and  find  in  her  gentle  sympathy,  her  ready  comprehen 
sion  of  me,  her  sweet  unselfish  cares  for  my  happiness, 
the  evidence  of  a  character  even  more  beautiful  than  the 
outward  form  in  which  it  is  presented.  I  love,  not  like 
a  boy,  dazzled  and  intoxicated,  but  with  an  appreciation 
of  her  so  founded  that  it  will  last  forever!" 

He  might  have  proceeded  till  wearied  of  his  own 
voice.  Walter  was  incapable  of  speech.  The  utmost 
he  had  ever  imagined  on  the  part  of  Oscar  was  a  boyish 
excitement,  perhaps  already  forgotten  in  the  new  scenes 
and  the  larger  circle  to  which  he  had  been  introduced. 
It  may  be  comprehended,  then,  with  what  feelings  he 
herard  this  avowal.  But  the  words  her  "sympathy," 
her  "cares  for  his  happiness,"  while  they  struck  still 
deeper,  were  inexplicable !  "  What,"  he  asked  himself, 
"  what  did  they  mean  ?  Have  I  been  blinded  by  a  mis 
erable  self-love  ?  I  will  know  the  worst." 

"And  she?"  he  at  length  ventured  to  inquire. 

"  I  see,  Walter,"  replied  Oscar,  "  that,  with  your  cool 
way  of  looking  at  things,  you  regard  me  only  as  an  ex- 


422 

citable  youth  whose  feelings  are  unreliable.  I  do  not 
resent  this.  Time  shall  justify  me.  For  the  same  rea 
son  you  will  distrust  my  impressions  of  her.  I  will  only 
say,  therefore,  that  if  Eleanor  Meredith  is  no  coquette, 
which  you  must  know  it  is  not  in  her  nature  to  be,  I 
have  no  reason  to  despair.  Not  that  I  am  such  a  puppy 
as  to  insinuate  a  single  word  or  look  that  could  compro 
mise  her  delicacy.  My  hope  is  founded  solely  on  the 
conviction  that,  though  I  have  not  spoken,  she  must  un 
derstand  me,  and  that,  so  doing,  she  continues  the  same." 

"And— why— not  speak?"  faltered  out  Walter,  feel 
ing  that  any  certainty  were  better  than  this  suspense. 

"  Ah !  Walter,  there  is  my  trouble !  From  my  father 
I  apprehend  no  opposition;  but — to  you  I  will  admit 
what  I  do  not  allow  to  others — what  I  try  to  conceal 
from  myself." 

Oscar  paused — was  moved — then,  recovering  himself, 
he  said,  "Do  you  believe  in  presentiments?" 

Walter  was  not  exactly  in  that  frame  of  mind  best  fit 
ted  to  answer  such  a  question. 

He  only  replied,  "  No  one,  I  believe,  is  always  proof 
against  them." 

•"I,  at  least,"  continued  Oscar,  "  am  not.  I  believe, 
I  should  rather  say,  I  fear,  I  shall  die  early — perhaps 
soon.  I  thought  myself  well.  I  have  had  some  int? 
mations  of  late  that  suggest  the  contrary,  and  confirm 
an  impression  I  have  long  had,  but  which  never  till  now 
afflicted  me.  At  present,  therefore,  I  deliberately  avoid 
an  explanation  that  might  only  commit  her  to  greater 
suffering.  Will  you  not  now  believe  in  me,  Walter, 
when  you  see  I  am  not  incapable  of  self-control?" 

"  But  do  you  equally  avoid,"  asked  Walter,  evading 
the  question,  "  do  you  equally  avoid  securing  an  inter 
est  that  must  lead  to  the  same  consequences  ?" 

"  I  am  not  sure.     It  is  so  difficult  when  with  her  to 


A  PEEP  AT  THE   PAST.  423 

resist  the  sweetness  that  seems  to  draw  the  very  heart 
out  of  me.  But  if  I  err,  it  is  at  least  not  designedly. 
You  will,  of  course,  go  there  to-morrow.  We  will  go 
together,  and  you  shall  see  yourself  how  wise  and  reso 
lute  I  can  be." 

Walter  could  not  trust  himself  with  more  than  a  si 
lent  assent,  and  Oscar  paused  for  some  moments ;  then, 
with  much  feeling,  but  with  his  usual  manly  frankness, 
said,  "  I  am  disappointed,  Walter.  I  expected  from  you 
a  sympathy  more  demonstrative.  For  this  reason  I 
longed  to  see  you — to  speak  to  you  of  what  I  could  speak 
to  no  one  else — my  hopes  !  my  fears !  But  I  see  how  it 
is.  I  am  in  your  eyes  still  a  boy ;  and  this  my  first  essay 
in  the  tender  passion,  to  which  many  others  will  succeed 
before  I  am  really  caught !  I  thought  you  would  better 
understand  me.  Well,  well,  time  will  show." 

Walter's  distress  was  intolerable.  What  could  he 
say?  How  so  speak  as  neither  to  wound  nor  deceive 
Oscar?  Neither  to  compromise  Eleanor  nor  himself? 
The  instinct  of  truth  saved  him. 

"  Oscar,"  said  he,  in  a  tone  so  earnest  and  affectionate, 
that  it  could  not  but  bring  conviction,  "  never  has  my 
interest  in  you  been  so  strong  as  at  this  moment.  I  be 
lieve  in  your  love;  I  respect  your  self-control,  and  I 
pray  Heaven  that  your  impressions  of  your  health  may 
be  mistaken.  But  let  us  talk  no  farther  at  present.  It 
is  not  best.  Good-night.  We  will  do  to-morrow  what 
ever  you  choose." 

He  retired,  but  it  was  only  to  give  vent  to  feelings  he 
had  with  such  difficulty  suppressed.  What  they  were, 
may  be  supposed  easily  divined  by  one  as  much  in  his 
confidence  as  the  reader  presumes  himself  to  be. 

But  there  were  complications  of  which  even  he  is  yet 
ignorant. 

Out  of  a  chaos  of  fear  and  perplexity  there  came  ques- 


424 

tionings  which  Walter  sought  to  resolve.  "  Was  she, 
but  lately  so  kind,  so  confiding,  was  she  capricious  and 
unstable  ?  Could  she  have  so  little  depth  ?"  To  one 
who,  like  himself,  might  say  that  he  "  could  not  forget," 
this  would  be  less  pardonable  than  much  that  was  posi 
tively  wrong.  "  If  such  were  the  case,  he  could  bear  to 
lose  her.  It  would  be  a  stern  effort,  but  a  short  one." 

"But  let  him  be  just.  She  was  perhaps  more  con 
sistent  than  himself.  Had  he  not  pronounced  his  own 
doom  when  he  first  tore  himself  from  her  ?  And,  if  she 
still  met  him  kindly,  had  she  not  wisely  and  resolutely 
forbidden  him  to  cross  her  threshold?  Was  not  this 
sufficiently  significant  ?  If  compassion  had  subsequent 
ly  pleaded  for  Oscar — if  the  wishes  of  her  friends  had  rec 
ommended,  perhaps  urged  his  suit — of  what  had  he  to 
complain  ?  On  the  other  hand,  if  this  impression  were 
so  feeble  that  a  previous  preference  might  yet  be  revived, 
in  that  case  were  not  her  own  feelings  entitled  to  consid 
eration  ?  Ah !  let  me  not,"  he  thought,  "  be  tempted  by 
this  insidious  suggestion." 

No ;  he  dealt  boldly  and  truly  with  his  own  soul,  and 
he  came  resolved  to  his  conclusion.  He  would  see  them 
together.  He  would  observe  her  calmly,  and,  if  he  de 
tected  even  a  leaning  in  favor  of  Oscar,  he  would  crush 
unrelentingly  the  hope  that  had  recently  dawned  on 
himself. 

The  next  day  they  drove  to  the  Oaks.  They  were 
shown  into  the  dining-room,  where  Walter  was  present 
ed  to  Mrs.  Grafton  and  her  father,  and  received  very 
civilly  by  Mr.  and  Mrs.  Meredith. 

A  servant  was  sent  to  inform  Miss  Eleanor,  but  she 
already  knew  whom  she  was  to  see.  Her  quick  eye  had 
caught  a  glimpse  of  Walter  as  he  alighted  from  the  car 
riage.  She  was  as  quickly  reminded  of  the  self-con 
demnation  their  last  interview  had  caused  her,  and  of 


A   PEEP   AT  THE   PAST.  425 

the  resolutions  she  had  then  formed.  To  these  was  add 
ed  the  reflection  that  she  was  now  to  meet  him  in  the 
presence  of  others ;  and  she  was  seized  with  a  nervous 
tremor  lest  she  might  betray  what  her  present  nicer 
sense  of  propriety  taught  her  should  never  have  escaped 
her  own  breast. 

Under  this  apprehension  she  entered  the  room.  The 
consciousness  of  constraint  increased  it.  For  relief  she 
addressed  Oscar,  and  the  warmth  she  had  not  dared  to 
manifest  to  Walter  spent  itself  on  him.  Denying  a 
healthful  draught  to  the  one,  she  unwittingly  gave  poison 
to  the  other. 

Mr.  Grafton  observed  the  difference. 

"Poor  Walter!"  thought  he,  as  he  turned  an  inquir 
ing  look  at  Eleanor. 

She  perceived  it.  The  fear  of  being  watched  took 
possession  of  hen  She  became  more  conscious,  and,  of 
course,  more  cold. 

Walter  could  not  but  feel  it ;  but,  though  perplexed, 
he  was  still  incredulous  as  to  a  real  change.  He  endeav 
ored,  by  his  own  behavior,  to  relieve  her.  He  talked  of 
indifferent  things,  and  she  gradually  regained  more  self- 
possession,  but  she  was  not  natural.  An  increasing 
dread  of  some  mistake  on  her  part— of  unkindness,  in 
consistency—gave  to  her  countenance  an  uncertain  ex 
pression.  Her  manner  became  ambiguous.  "  It  might 
indicate  an  interest  in  Oscar;  it  might  conceal  an  en 
during  but  repressed  sentiment  toward  himself."  A 
lover's  instinct  inclined  to  the  last.  He  felt  as  if  one 
word,  one  look,  would  be  an  *  open  sesame'  to  that  heart 
never  closed  to  him  before.  But  there  was  that,  even 
stronger  than  love,  which  forbade  that  word,  that  look. 

Ketreating  from  Eleanor,  he  advanced  toward  Mrs. 
Grafton ;  and  they  were  mutually  so  well  pleased,  that 
Eleanor,  having  no  farther  opportunity  to  address  him, 
permitted  herself  to  be  engrossed  by  Oscar. 


426 

Endurance,  however  perfect,  has,  like  all  things,  its 
limits ;  and,  on  the  entrance  of  other  company,  Walter 
succeeded  in  drawing  Oscar,  reluctantly,  away. 

Thus  passed  a  week.  Walter,  compelled  when  at 
home  to  listen  to  the  raptures,  plans,  and  hopes  of  Os 
car,  was  glad  to  escape  them  even  by  visits  to  the  Oaks, 
though  the  same  tmpropitious  circumstances  prevented 
any  clearer  comprehension  of  Eleanor ;  the  same  circle 
always  present,  the  same  obstacles  to  any  conversation 
with  her.  He  was  satisfied  with  no  inferences  that  could 
be  drawn  from  the  small  opportunities  afforded  him. 
Eleanor,  once  open  as  the  day,  became  an  enigma  to 
him.  A  few  weeks  since,  animated,  confiding,  natural ; 
now,  restless,  disturbed,  and  with  a  mind  evidently  ill  at 
ease.  At  one  moment  he  would  compassionate  what 
might  be  painful  vacillation  on  the  subject  of  Oscar,  the 
next  reproach  her  inconsistency  to  himself.  -"  But  why?" 
he  would  ask.  "Did  I  not  counsel  her  to  forget  me? 
Did  I  not  abjure  the  language  of  love  to  her  very  face? 
Was  she  to  be  faithful  to  a  phantom  ?  No ;  I  ought  to 
be  the  sufferer.  I  would  not,  if  I  could,  turn  the  trem 
bling  scale  that  vibrates  in  favor  of  Oscar." 

One  evening,  the  weather  proving  unfit  for  Oscar  to 
go,  as  he  had  purposed,  to  the  Oaks,  in  the  hope  of  at 
least  hearing  from  there,  he  persuaded  Walter  to  do  so. 
He  found  the  family,  as  usual,  together,  Mrs.  Meredith 
and  Eleanor  at  work.  The  conversation  for  a  while  was 
general ;  and,  though  Eleanor  took  little  part  in  it,  she 
seemed  more  at  ease  than  usual.  At  length  Walter  ap 
proached  the  table  at  which  she  sat. 

"As  industrious  as  ever!"  said  he. 

She  looked  up;  the  light  fell  full  on  her  face,  but  a 
smile  even  brighter  overspread  it. 

"  Oh  no !  I  accomplish  nothing.    I  am  a  lazy  girl  now." 

"  Can  that  mean,"  thought  Walter,  "  that  the  heart  is 
too  busy  to  let  head  or  hands  work?" 


A   PEEP   AT  THE   PAST.  427 

"  Some  people  can  afford  to  be  idle,"  said  he.  "  The 
bee  is  so  in  winter,  you  know." 

"  Yes ;  but  I  have  gathered  no  honey,  I  fear." 

"None,  perhaps,  that  you  will  exhibit;  for,  like  the 
bees,  you  do  not  fancy  a  glass  hive." 

A  pleasant  reply  was  on  her  lip,  but  her  father  ap 
proached,  and  it  was  checked. 

"  What  is  this  I  hear  ?"  asked  he.  "  Is  young  Middle- 
ton  going  to  Bermuda  this  autumn  ?" 

"He  thinks  of  it,  sir,"  replied  Walter. 

"  But  not  for  his  health,  surely :  he  looks  better  than 
he  did." 

"  'Tis,  I  hope,  rather  a  measure  of  precaution  than  ne 
cessity.  His  father  has  always  had  a  dread  of  our  win 
ters  for  him." 

"Does  his  father  go  with  him?" 

"No,  sir;  I  shall  do  so." 

"Indeed!  That  may  be  for  your  advantage.  I  am 
glad  to  hear  it.  When  do  you  go  ?" 

"  We  shall  leave  here  as  soon  as  Mr.  Middleton  returns, 
on  a  preliminary  excursion,  which  will  occupy  some 
weeks ;  after  which  we  shall  proceed  to  Bermuda." 

Eleanor  had  not  spoken,  and  Walter  had  avoided  to 
look  at  her.  Now  a  movement  of  her  chair  compelled 
him  to  do  so.  Her  smile  was  gone.  A  troubled  ex 
pression  replaced  it,  and,  in  a  flurried  manner,  she  gath 
ered  her  work  as  if  to  change  her  seat. 

"  Can  I  assist  you?"  he  asked. 

Without  answering,  she  hastened  toward  the  door,  left 
the  room,  and  did  not  return. 

Mr.  Meredith  took  the  seat  she  had  left,  and  Walter 
was  condemned,  while  thinking  of  any  thing  else,  to  list 
en  to  details  and  questions  as  to  the  climate  and  condi 
tion  of  Bermuda,  the  opportunities  he  might  find  there 
of  advancing  his  own  interests,  how  he  would  like  such 


428  WALTER  THORNLEY;    OR, 

a  residence,  and  the  offer  of  letters  to  two  or  three  ac 
quaintances  Mr.  Meredith  happened  to  have  there ;  all 
of  which,  however  well  meant,  were  at  this  moment  as 
unwelcome  as  unnecessary;  and,  as  soon  as  he  could  es 
cape,  he  took  his  leave. 

Arrived  at  home,  another  trial  awaited  him.  Oscar 
insisted  on  knowing  how  Eleanor  looked,  how  she  was 
dressed,  how  occupied ;  if  she  were  in  spirits ;  if  she 
spoke  of  him  ? 

Walter  submitted  to  "the  question"  manfully.  He 
even  did  more.  He  magnanimously  and  unflinchingly 
related  the  effect  produced  on  her  by  the  announcement 
of  his  approaching  departure.  He  did  well.  It  was  not 
more  delightful  to  Oscar  than  a  wholesome,  because  in 
durating  process  to  himself. 

Faint  not,  Walter  I 

* '  And  thou  shalt  know,  'ere  long  1 

know  how  sublime  a  thing  it  is 

To  suffer,  and  be  strong!" 

Eleanor,  meanwhile,  was  little  to  be  envied.  She  had 
acted  impulsively,  and,  as  was  often  her  experience,  now 
regretted  it, 

Walter,  occupied  with  studying  her,  had  been  unaware 
of  the  change  in  his  own  manner,  scarcely  to  be  avoided 
under  the  circumstances.  Each  had  thus  unconsciously 
distressed  and  repelled  the  other,  and  were  equally  seek 
ing  an  explanation  of  what  was  only  in  themselves. 

"  And  now  he  is  going!"  exclaimed  Eleanor,  as  she 
sat  leaning  her  throbbing  head  on  her  hands;  "to  be 
gone  for  months,  and  then,  of  course,  not  to  return  here* 
I  may  not  see  him,  heaven  only  knows  when !  He  goes, 
too,  without  a  single  word  of  interest  in  me  since  we 
met !  Not  love ;  that  I  know  he  would  not  speak,  even 
if  he  felt  it.  But,  surely,  we  may  be  friends,  if  no  more*. 
No,  even  this  is  past,  I  see  it,  I  can  not  explain  it,  but 


A  PEEP  AT  THE   PAST.  429 

I  feel  it.  Perhaps  I  ought  to  have  staid;  he  might 
have  had  something  now  to  say  to  me.  He  may  have 
come  on  purpose !  foolish  girl !  and  yet,  at  this  moment, 
I  ran  away  !  I  will  go  down ;  I  will  sit  by  him ;  will 
talk  to  him  as  I  used  to  do ;  will  even  say,  '  What  is  this 
dreadful  blank  that  has  come  between  us?'  "  and,  starting 
up,  she  rushed  to  the  parlor.  She  was  too  late.  Walter 
had  gone. 


430  WALTER  THORNLEY;  OR, 


CHAPTER  XLIL 

THE  next  morning  Walter  had  business  in  the  city, 
but  Oscar  declined  accompanying  him,  reserving  him 
self  for  a  drive  to  the  Oaks  in  the  afternoon.  Taking  a 
book  from  the  library,  he  retired  to  his  own  room  com 
municating  with  it,  and  threw  himself  on  a  couch,  not 
so  much  to  read  as  to  muse. 

And  now  his  ardent  spirit,  refined,  but  not  tamed,  by 
its  companionship  with  a  delicate  frame,  indulged  in  the 
fond  fancies  of  sanguine,  unsuspecting  youth.  uHe 
must,  indeed,  absent  himself  for  a  short  time.  He  was 
aware  that  he  was  less  well  than  he  had  been,  but  it  was 
the  natural  consequence  of  sorrow  and  depressing  cir 
cumstances.  He  was  not  in  the  best  condition,  therefore, 
to  encounter  a  northern  winter.  But  he  should  return 
well !  He  had  always  improved  by  a  change  of  climate. 
And  then  he  should  be  justified  in  a  full  avowal  to  Elea 
nor.  But  could  he  be  sure  of  the  answer  he  desired? 
Sure!  no!  he  was  not  so  presumptuous.  Yet  neither 
could  he  despair  when  he  reflected  on  her  almost  tender 
interest  in  his  happiness.  The  feeling,  too,  betrayed  at 
the  intelligence  of  his  departure !  Dear,  kind  Walter ; 
how  true  his  sympathy !  manly  and  self-restrained  as  he 
always  was,  yet  how  moved  had  he  been  while  telling 
him.  And  even  if  she  now  feels  only  friendship,  might 
not  his  faithful  love  in  time  secure  its  reward?  Oh 
yes !  he  would  not  doubt  it  I" 

Hope  gilded  his  future  in  her  brightest  dyes.  His 
book  lay  unopened  by  his  side,  while  his  own  face  pre 
sented  a  page  that  would  have  repaid  the  perusal.  His 
kindling  eye,  his  excited  color,  alas !  too  high,  and  the 


A   PEEP   AT   THE   PAST.  431 

smile  that  played  about  liis  mouth  betrayed  the  promise 
that  his  heart  whispered ! 

The  door  into  the  library  was  open.  A  footstep  was 
heard  in  the  hall,  and  a  voice  he  did  not  know  inquired 
of  the  servant  in  attendance  if  Mr.  Middleton  were  at 
home. 

"  No,  sir." 

"Is  he  in  the  city?" 

"No,  sir.     He  has  been  absent  some  time." 

"When  will  he  return?" 

"  Perhaps  not  for  several  days,  sir." 

There  was  a  pause,  apparently  hesitation  and  disap 
pointment,  which  the  servant  perceiving,  said, 

"  His  son  is  at  home,  sir." 

"  His  son!  indeed !     I  will  see  him,  then." 

Oscar  rose  and  went  into  the  room,  where  he  saw  a 
middle-aged  gentleman,  of  a  grave,  rather  cold,  business 
like  appearance,  who  announced  himself  as  Mr.  Bolton. 

Oscar  bowed,  and  begged  him  to  be  seated.  The  name 
was  new  to  him. 

"  Mr.  Middleton's  son,  I  presume." 

Oscar  returned  an  affirmative  bow. 

" His  only  son?" 

Again  Oscar  bowed. 

"  There  were  others,  I  think." 

"Yes." 

"But  none  of  them  are  living?" 

"  No,  sir,"  said  Oscar,  rather  annoyed  by  such  inqui 
ries  from  a  stranger. 

"  I  am  sorry  not  to  see  your  father  at  once,"  continued 
Mr.  Bolton,  "  as  I  wished  without  delay  to  put  into  his 
own  hand  this  packet,  containing  papers  of  importance. 
But  the  next  best  thing  is'*to  place  it  in  your  custody, 
whose  interest  in  them  is  not  less  than  his  own,"  and  he 
laid  it  on  the  library  table,  by  his  side. 


432  WALTER  THORNLEY;  OR, 

"I  will  see  that  my  father  has  it  as  soon  as  he  ar 
rives." 

The  gentleman  then  rose  to  depart.  Oscar  repeated 
his  invitation  to  rest  himself,  but  he  declined. 

"Before  I  go,  however,"  said  he,  "I  may,  I  hope,  be 
permitted  to  express  my  satisfaction  at  seeing  you  here, 
young  gentleman,  in  your  proper  place." 

" Here !"  thought  Oscar ;  "  where  else  could  I  be?" 

"  A  fact,"  continued  Mr.  Bolton,  "  that  I  shall  have 
great  pleasure  in  communicating  to  my  respected  client, 
to  whom  I  shall  write  to-day." 

Oscar  stared.  "  The  man  is  under  some  gross  mis 
take!"  thought  he. 

"  You  look  surprised,"  said  the  gentleman,  and  well 
may  be,  that  a  stranger  should  be  aware  of  what,  I  pre 
sume,  has  been  but  lately  made  known  to  yourself.  But 
the  confidential  relation  in  which  my  respected  client — 
your  honored  mother,  sir,  as  you  must  understand — has 
thought  proper  to  place  me,  has  necessarily  put  me  in 
possession  of  many  private  and  family  matters." 

"The  man  is  mad!"  thought  Oscar,  listening  in  silence, 
and  with  a.  look  of  extreme  perplexity,  which  induced 
Mr.  Bolton  to  repeat  his  inquiries. 

"  You  are  Mr.  Middleton's  only  son  ?  I  think  you 
said  so." 

"Yes,  sir." 

"  The  others  are  dead?    I  understood  you  so  to  say." 

Oscar  again  assented. 

"  Not  that,  if  living,  it  would  be  material,"  he  con 
tinued,  with  the  same  cross-examining  air,  "  but  it  would 
be  disagreeable,  of  course — " 

"  Sir !"  interrupted  Oscar,  indignantly. 

But,  not  heeding,  the  gentleman  proceeded. 

"  Yes ;  I  am  right.  His  only  son,  heretofore  known 
as  Walter  Thornley — his  only  child  by  his  only  wedded 


A   PEEP   AT  THE   PAST.  433 

wife — residing  in  England,  she  being  a  subject  of  his 
British  majesty;  the  rights  of  which  child  I  am  sent  over 
to  make  known,  and,  if  necessary,  to  enforce ;  but  which 
rights,  I  am  happy  to  observe,  have  been  acknowledged 
without  my  interference." 

This,  like  what  had  preceded,  would  have  been  re 
garded  as  some  unaccountable  mistake,  or  the  ravings 
of  a  disordered  mind ;  but  that,  as  Oscar  had  grown  old 
er,  his  father's  peculiarities  had  occasioned  him  much 
painful  perplexity — his  strange  paroxysms  of  unexplain 
ed  distress,  and  the  mystery  that  rested  on  his  early  life. 
Habitual  respect  for  him  had  rejected  the  idea  of  crime 
or  disgrace,  but  a  vague  fear  had  haunted  him  of  some 
youthful  wrong-doing,  the  remembrance  of  which  had, 
perhaps  by  a  morbid  exaggeration,  been  a  spectre  in  his 
path  through  life.  These  words,  therefore,  fearful  and 
incomprehensible,  were  received  as  a  revelation,  and 
struck  on  a  chord  the  vibrations  of  which  were  too  much 
for  his  sensitive  nature. 

Turning  deadly  pale,  his  hand  pressed  to  his  breast  as 
if  in  acute  pain,  he  staggered,  and  would  have  fallen,  had 
not  Mr.  Bolton,  extending  his  arms,  caught  him.  His 
cry  of  alarm  brought  in  a  servant  from  the  hall,  and  to 
gether  they  succeeded  in  laying  him  on  the  couch  in  his 
own  room. 

Supposing  him  to  be  faint,  the  servant  hastened  for  a 
restorative,  and  Mr.  Bolton  looked  with  consternation 
on  the  mischief  which,  he  knew  not  why,  he  seemed  to 
have  caused.  A  moment  passed,  and  a  glass  was  offer 
ed  to  Oscar.  Without  opening  his  eyes,  with  a  feeble 
motion  of  the  hand  he  repulsed  it ;  and  they  saw  with 
dismay  that  blood  was  issuing  from  his  mouth. 

"  A  physician  !"  exclaimed  Mr.  Bolton  ;  "  lose  no 
time!"  ' 

The  man,  in  obeying  the  injunction,  encountered  Wai- 
T 


434 

ter  entering.  One  glance  revealed  the  condition  of  his 
friend.  Ordering  the  servant  to  remain,  he  rushed  from 
the  house.  The  chaise  of  the  family  physician  stood  at 
a  door  in  the  neighborhood.  He  flew  rather  than  ran ; 
entered  and  found  him  just  departing.  Few  words  were 
necessary,  and  they  were  at  Mr.  Middleton's  with  the 
speed  which,  unhappily,  the  case  required. 

Whatever  skill  and  experience  suggested  to  a  judi 
cious  man,  well  understanding  the  constitution  of  his 
patient,  was  at  once  resorted  to,  with  an  injunction  to 
silence  and  tranquillity,  and  no  attendance  but  that 
strictly  necessary.  Oscar  spoke  not.  His  eyes  remain 
ed  closed,  and  only  by  an  occasional  movement  of  his 
hand  he  indicated  a  want  or  rejected  an  offer. 

"  He  is  very  right,"  whispered  Doctor  Barton.  "  The 
less  he  hears,  sees,  or  speaks,  the  better.  His  pulse  be 
trays  much  disturbance  of  the  system." 

Alas  1  They  did  not  understand  that  in  the  miserable 
conflict  within,  he  instinctively  excluded  every  sight  and 
sound. 

Meanwhile,  Mr.  Bolton,  still  under  his  original  mistake, 
with  many  expressions  of  regret,  the  more  hearty  as  he 
believed  that  the  calamity  nearly  touched  his  "  honored 
client,"  took  his  leave ;  and  the  doctor,  having  at  length 
succeeded  in  checking  the  hemorrhage,  left  Oscar  in  the 
care  of  Walter  and  the  faithful  Wilson. 

After  dispatching  a  note  to  Mr.  Grafton,  Walter  seat 
ed  himself  sufficiently  near  to  watch,  without  disturbing, 
Oscar.  The  day  was  now  declining,  and  the  darkened 
room,  the  perfect  quiet,  and  an  anodyne,  would,  he  trust 
ed,  induce  sleep.  He  was  not  yet  aware  that  a  thought 
had  been  rudely  thrust  into  that  gentle  breast  that  "  man- 
dragora  nor  all  the  drowsy  sirups  of  the  world"  could 
effectually  still ! 

But  at  length,  for  a  brief  space,  the  "  sweet  restorer" 


A   PEEP   AT   THE   PAST.  435 

came.  The  restless  muscles  were  quiet;  the  nerves 
ceased  their  agitation ;  a  more  regular  pulsation  return 
ed  ;  the  face  was  calm.  He  slept. 

The  night  had  fallen,  and  so  profound  was  the  still 
ness  that  the  faintest  sound  might  have  been  detected. 
Walter  heard  only  the  ticking  of  his  watch,  and  the 
breathing  from  the  sick-bed,  at  first  quick,  but  by  de 
grees  indicating  the  better  rest  of  the  sleeper. 

"  Thank  heaven  1"  he  ejaculated,  with  a  sense  of  in 
finite  relief. 

An  hour  or  more  passed,  and  carriage-wheels  were 
heard.  They  approached  the  house.  They  stopped  at 
the  door ;  it  opened.  Some  one  entered,  met  by  others 
cautiously  approaching  from  within.  Then  suppressed 
voices  were  heard.  Then  low  sounds  of  distress  came 
from  the  library. 

Walter,  afraid  to  stir,  did  not  attempt  to  close  the 
door  of  Oscar's  room,  till  the  sounds  becoming  more 
audible,  he  ventured  to  move  toward  it.  In  doing  so 
he  was  shocked  to  perceive  Mr.  Middleton  extended  on 
the  sofa,  his  face  covered  with  his  hands.  Mr.  Grafton 
stood  near  him.  Walter  remained  immovable.  Mr. 
Grafton  turned,  saw,  and  beckoned  to  him.  Walter  ad 
vanced.  "Speak!"  said  Mr.  Grafton,  in  a  low  but  de 
cided  tone.  "  'Tis  the  best  moment.  One  strong  emo 
tion  will  control  another." 

Walter  obeyed.  Approaching  the  sofa,  he  knelt,  and 
in  a  tender  voice  uttered  one  word : 

"Father!" 

It  was  enough.  Mr.  Middleton  turned  on  Walter  a 
startled  and  agitated  look,  but  unattended  by  any  vio 
lent  demonstration.  On  the  contrary,  putting  his  arm 
gently  round  him,  he  said,  with  an  emphasis  that  went 
to  his  heart,  but  in  a  low  and  broken  voice,  "  My  noble 
son!" 


436  WALTER  THOKNLEY;  OR, 

Walter  took  his  hand,  pressed  it  to  his  lips,  and  meet 
ing  those  eyes  that  seemed  to  seek  his  secret  thoughts, 
answered  their  scrutiny  with  an  expression  of  such  man 
ly  confidence,  such  compassionate  tenderness,  that  Mr. 
Middleton  could  neither  distrust  nor  fear  him.  He  suf 
fered  Walter  to  retain  his  hand,  and  gazed  on  him  in 
silence,  till,  by  a  sign,  Mr.  Grafton  called  him  to  his 
side. 

"  The  worst  is  over,"  he  whispered.  "  Eeturn  to  your 
charge.  Mr.  Middleton  is  mine." 

Oscar  still  slept.  The  night  was  far  advanced,  but 
Walter  was  too  deeply  moved  to  sleep.  While  he  re 
flected  with  thankfulness  that  the  dreaded  interview — 
for  which  he  had  in  some  degree  been  prepared — was 
past,  he  knew  there  was  much  yet  to  suffer.  He  had, 
indeed,  found  that  for  which  he  had  been  so  long  impor 
tunate — for  which  he  had  wept  and  prayed.  He  had  a 
name,  a  place  among  the  kindreds  of  men.  He  was  no 
longer  a  waif,  a  stray  on  the  great  common  of  the  world, 
to  be  picked  up  and  claimed  by  he  could  not  tell  whom 
— liable  at  any  moment  to  be  dissevered  from  all  he  held 
dear,  and  united,  perhaps  indissolubly,  to  all  most  ab 
horrent. 

But  there  was  another  side — darker,  perhaps,  than  he 
feared — full  of  wrong  and  wretchedness !  There  was  an 
innocent  sufferer,  from  whom  all  was  wrenched  that  he 
himself  had  gained !  What  new  duties  were  involved 
in  these  strange  developments  ?  Was  it  for  him,  who, 
when  cast  away,  had  been  gathered  in ;  when  desert 
ed,  had  been  sheltered ;  when  unknown,  had  been  cared 
for,  instructed,  and  protected,  and  to  whom  rights  de 
spaired  of  had  now  been  restored — wras  it  for  him  to 
ask  more?  "No,"  thought  he,  the  same  self-denying 
purpose  animating  him  by  which  he  had  already  been 
actuated,  "No;  her  love,  too  pure  to  be  affected  by  ex- 


A  PEEP  AT  THE   PAST.  437 

ternal  changes,  shall  compensate  him  for  all  he  has  lost ! 
If  I  yet  have  influence  it  shall  be  used  for  him." 

While  Walter  kept  his  unbroken  vigil,  Mr.  Grafton 
devoted  himself  to  Mr.  Middle  ton. 

He  had  hurried  to  the  Lodge  on  receiving  Walter's 
note.  The  packet  on  the  table  had  caught  his  attention. 

"It  was  left,"  Wilson  said,  "by  the  gentleman  whose 
conversation  had  brought  on  all  the  trouble." 

The  truth  flashed  on  Mr.  Grafton — already  prepared 
for  it.  The  communication,  so  carefully,  for  the  present, 
averted,  had  been  made  by  a  stranger ;  ignorant,  too,  of 
the  nature  with  which  he  was  dealing.  The  result  did 
not  surprise  him. 

Mr.  Middleton  being  induced  to  withdraw  to  his  own 
room,  a  fearful  scene  ensued.  A  new  terror  seized  him. 
"  Oscar  was  not  prostrated  by  an  inevitable  disease.  No ; 
the  blow  might  never  have  fallen.  He  himself  was  his 
murderer !  The  avenging  judgment  of  God  was  upon 
him !  The  victim  demanded  was  his  own  child — slain 
by  his  own  hand !  The  fruit  of  his  body  for  the  sin  of 
his  soul !" 

Though  no  two  men  could  be  more  different,  Mr. 
Grafton  was  the  person  who  at  this  moment  could  most 
influence  him.  His  sympathy — ever  responding  to  the 
cry  of  the  afflicted,  from  whatever  cause — like  the  oil 
and  wine  in  the  wounds  of  him  who  fell  among  thieves, 
shed  its  balm  on  the  sore  and  remorseful  spirit  that  now 
poured  forth  its  agony  into  his  heart.  His  efforts  were 
at  length  so  far  successful  that  he  left  Mr.  Middleton  in 
some  degree  composed.  His  next  care  was  to  see  Mr. 
Bolton,  to  inform  him  of  the  actual  state  of  things,  and 
to  secure  his  silence,  for  the  reason  that  publicity  at 
present  could  only  aggravate  the  feelings  of  all. 

The  morning  found  Oscar  more  refreshed  and  calm 
than  they  had  dared  to  hope.  But  a  deep  seriousness 


438 

was  on  his  countenance.  He  watched  every  one  who 
approached;  he  listened  to  every  sound.  He  did  not 
attempt  to  speak,  or  even  to  move.  He  seemed  reserv 
ing  his  strength  for  some  definite  purpose. 

The  physician  came.  He  pronounced  every  thing  as 
favorable  as  he  had  expected.  This  was  ambiguous,  but 
no  one  dared  to  ask  any  thing  more  explicit. 

Oscar  made  a  sign  for  a  pencil,  and,  with  a  slight  ef 
fort,  wrote,  "  My  father  is  returned ;  I  must  see  him." 

The  physician  hesitated.  Oscar  perceived  it.  An  im 
patient  frown  obscured  for  an  instant  the  almost  deathly 
calm  of  his  face.  " I  must"  he  wrote,  " for  one  word." 

It  was  no  longer  opposed,  and  Mr.  Grafton  went  to 
inform  Mr.  Middleton.  They  returned  together.  Mr. 
Grafton  and  the  physician  withdrew  to  the  library. 
Walter  rose  to  follow  them,  but  a  sign  from  Oscar  de 
tained  him. 

Mr.  Middleton,  with  feelings  that  no  words  could  ade 
quately  convey,  approached  and  leaned  over  his  son. 
Oscar's  calmness  seemed  something  supernatural.  Fix 
ing  his  eye  intently  on  his  father's  agitated  face,  his  own 
colorless  and  quiet  almost  to  sternness,  occupied  with 
one  idea,  he  yet  uttered  no  sound.  At  length  his  lips 
moved,  and  one  word  passed  them — uMy  mother?" 

"  I  know  what  you  would  ask !"  exclaimed  his  father. 
"  She  was  as  unconscious  of  wrong  to  others  as  to  her 
self.  She  was  pure  as  the  angels  to  whom  she  has  gone  1" 
A  smile,  sweet  as  that  of  infancy,  a  glance  upcast,  ex 
pressed  the  joy  and  gratitude  these  words  inspired. 
Looking  to  Walter,  he  said,  speaking  very  low,  but  with 
much  significance,  u  You  hear;  I  thought  so.  I  shall  die 
happy."  Then,  closing  his  eyes,  he  seemed  to  decline  all 
farther  communication.  Mr.  Middleton  was  equally  unfit 
for  it,  and,  on  the  entrance  of  the  physician,  who  imposed 
the  most  rigorous  restrictions,  he  left  the  room. 


A  PEEP  AT  THE   PAST.  439 

During  many  succeeding  days  judicious  care  and  treat 
ment  had  their  proper  effect,  and  the  physician's  opinion 
was  decidedly  favorable.  The  stony  look  was  gone ;  his 
natural  sweetness  returned.  As  his  father  sat  by  his 
bed,  he  would  often  extend  his  hand,  as  with  a  desire  to 
comfort  him ;  and  Walter,  his  unwearied  attendant,  his 
loving  eyes  were  always  seeking.  Every  day  now 
brought  some  improvement.  He  was  allowed  to  change 
his  position  more  freely,  to  talk,  with  certain  restrictions, 
and  to  sit  up.  All  things  promked  well,  and  his  physi 
cian  authorized  the  confident  hope  thus  inspired. 


440  WALTER  THORNLEY;  OB, 


CHAPTER  XLIII. 

WALTER  had  not  been  to  the  Oaks  since  the  illness 
of  Oscar ;  but  he  was  now  so  much  better  as  not  to  re 
quire  his  presence,  even  preferring  to  be  alone ;  he  drove 
over,  therefore,  to  see  Mr.  Grafton,  with  whom  he  had 
business. 

As  he  approached  the  house,  he  hoped  that  he  should 
not  see  Eleanor.  He  asked,  accordingly,  only  for  Mr. 
Grafton,  but  a  light  step  on  the  staircase  made  him  aware 
that  his  wish  was  not  granted.  Looking  up,  he  perceiv 
ed  her  descending.  She  had  not  yet  seen  him.  As  she 
came  nearer  her  cheek  flushed,  her  eye  brightened,  and, 
with  a  spring,  she  was  by  his  side. 

"  Ah !  Mr.  Thornley,"  she  exclaimed,  forgetting  the 
caution  which  his  own  reserve  and  absence  rendered  un 
necessary,  "  indeed !  'tis  long  since  you  were  here." 

"  She  has  heard,"  he  thought,  "  that  he  is  doing  well. 
I  wish  he  could  see  how  happy  it  has  made  her !  it  would 
be  his  best  medicine." 

"Yes,"  he  said,  "it  is,  indeed,  a  long  time  to  be  so 
near,  and  yet — so — "  "far  apart,"  he  would  have  said,  but 
he  corrected  himself — "  and  yet  unable  to  see  my  friends. 
But  we  are,  as  you  know,  so  much  relieved  about  Oscar, 
that  I  can  not  regret  any  thing." 

"  Oh  yes !  I  have  heard ;  'tis  delightful !  Yes,  yes,  he 
will  recover ;  you  may  be  certain  of  it ;"  and,  in  the 
hopeful  temper  natural  to  her,  and  to  encourage  "Walter, 
she  continued;  "the  attack,  I  understand,  was  quite  ac 
cidental;  one  that  might  happen  to  any  body — not  at 
all  likely  to  return  again ;  and  then,  you  know,  Nature 
is  always  on  the  side  of  youth." 


A  PEEP  AT  THE   PAST.  441 

He  was  a  little  surprised,  almost  pained,  at  her  man 
ner.  "It  was,"  he  though^  "something  too  easy;"  but 
he  repelled  the  harsh  imputation.  "Love  is  stronger 
than  fear,"  he  reflected.  "Poor  girl!  has  she  never 
heard  that  the  young  die  ?" 

"  The  doctor,  I  understand,"  continued  Eleanor,  "gives 
every  assurance." 

"  Oh  yes;  he  justifies  all  you  say.  But  where  is  Mr. 
Grafton  ?  I  came  to  see  him." 

" Only  to  see  him?  Mamma  will  not  let  you  go  be 
fore  dinner,  I  am  sure." 

But,  pleading  the  necessity  of  his  return,  he  hurried 
away. 

Having  seen  Mr.  Grafton,  he  drove  rapidly  home.  Os 
car  was  not  quite  so  well  as  he  had  left  him.  A  little 
excited,  feverish,  and  exhausted. 

"Walter's  anxious  look  called  for  an  explanation,  and 
Oscar,  with  a  smile,  pointed  to  a  sheet  of  paper  near  him. 
He  had  been  writing. 

"  Oh,  Oscar !  how  could  you  ?"  said  he,  reproachfully. 

He  waved  his  hand  to  ward  off  reproof.  "  'Tis  done," 
said  he,  and  Walter  was  silent. 

After  a  few  moments,  pointing  to  the  paper,  it  was 
handed  to  him.  He  folded  it,  put  it  into  Walter's  hand, 
and  said, with  earnestness,  "For  you ;  read  it  alone." 

The  restlessness  gradually  subsided,  and  he  fell  into  a 
sleep  that  it  was  hoped  would  entirely  remove  the  effects 
of  his  ill-timed  exertion.  But,  though  he  slept,  his  face 
was  not  calm.  Slight  contractions  of  the  brow  and 
mouth  disturbed  it.  Sad  thoughts  seemed  flitting  over 
it,  and,  occasionally,  a  faint  sigh  struggled  forth. 

Walter  remained  motionless  near  him,  and,  when  he 
awoke,  a  kind  smile  acknowledged  his  care  ;  but  it  yield 
ed  to  the  same  deep  seriousness,  so  marked  in  the  first 
days  of  his  illness.  His  eyes  were  fixed  in  thought.  He 

T2 


442  WALTER  THORNLEY;  OR, 

seemed  unconscious  of  the  presence  of  any  one.  Medi 
cine  was  brought  him;  he  took  it  without  a  question. 
Food  was  offered,  garnished  with  savory  remarks  from 
Wilson ;  he  received  it  mechanically.  His  father  enter 
ed,  and  his  mounting  color  and  quivering  lip  showed 
him  unequal  to  the  visit.  He  retired,  and  Oscar  became 
calm. 

At  night  "Walter  retired  to  the  library,  where  he  had 
slept  since  Oscar  had  been  so  well  as  to  dispense  with  a 
nearer  attendance.  Waiting  till  all  was  quiet,  he  drew 
the  manuscript  from  his  pocket  which  Oscar  had  given 
him,  and  read  as  follows : 

"  Though  my  heart  and  brain  are  full,  I  must  be  brief. 

"I  have  at  last  had  a  communication  with  my  father. 
I  could  weep  tears  of  blood !  Oh,  how  gladly  would 
I  die  to  expiate  the  wrong  he  has  inflicted,  to  remove 
the  suffering  he  endures.  Alas !  my  death  can  only 
aggravate  his  misery.  That  this  can  not  be  long  de 
layed  I  have  the  fullest  conviction ;  no  hopes  nor  assu 
rances  deceive  me.  I  am  dying  even  now.  Keceive, 
then,  these,  my  parting  words ;  I  may  have  strength  for 
no  other.  Walter!  long  the  brother  of  my  heart,  no 
natural  ties  can  make  you  dearer ;  and,  thank  Heaven, 
nothing  can  render  you  less  so !  Do  not,  for  an  instant, 
wrong  me  by  such  a  suspicion.  Comfort  my  father! 
and  one  other  care  I  leave  with  you.  See  Eleanor.  It 
can  not  be  that  I  have  mistaken  the  nature  of  her  sym 
pathy  !  But,  if  I  have  done  so,  offended  delicacy  will  be 
appeased  by  the  grave.  Explain  to  her  my  silence,  if 
she  does  not  already  understand  it.  I  would  not  be  re 
membered  as  trifling  and  inconsistent.  Convey  to  her 
the  assurance  of  my  undying  love.  Say  to  her  that  at 
this  moment  I  am  conscious  of  no  earthly  interest  stron 
ger  than  my  desire  for  her  happiness.  That  I  pray  she 


A  PEEP  AT  THE   PAST.  443 

may  find  it  in  a  union  with  one  who,  though  he  can  not 
love  her  more,  may  better  deserve  her  than  myself. 

"Oh,  how  many  thoughts  struggle  for  utterance  as 
I  think  of  her!  The  happy  past  returns  to  me,  the 
blessed  future  that  I  hoped  for  beams  upon  me !  But 
of  these  I  must  not  speak.  Time  is  closing  its  gates. 
The  opening  portals  of  another  world  demand  my 
thoughts. 

"  Do  not  grieve  for  me ;  I  go  to  my  mother !  'Tis  well 
it  is  so.  Earth  has  no  place  for  her,  nor  for  me.  Death 
has  no  terror !  I  deserve  nothing,  I  claim  nothing,  but 
throw  myself,  with  the  faith  of  a  child,  on  Him  who 
never  rejected  any  that  came  to  Him.  To  my  kind 
friends — all — I  can  not  specify — my  last  love  and  thanks. 
And  now,  my  dear  and  faithful  friend  and  brother,  be 
heaven's  choicest  blessings  yours !  My  parting  soul  will 
rely  upon  you.  Let  me  feel  the  pressure  of  your  hand 
when  I  can  not  return  it,  and  whisper  peace  and  love  to 
me,  even  when  you  believe  "  the  dull,  cold  ear  of  death" 
is  insensible.  The  spirit  may  perceive,  though  the  bodi 
ly  organism  is  dissolving.  Have  we  not  heard  of  strange 
suspensions  of  the  physical  powers,  mistaken  for  death 
itself,  when  yet  the  mind  was  conscious  ?  Farewell,  my 
brother!" 

• 

11  My  brother !"  echoed  the  throbbing  heart  of  Walter. 
"Dear,  generous,  magnanimous  Oscar!  Can  it  be  that 
I  must  part  with  you  ?" 

Overcome  by  emotion,  he  threw  himself  back  in  his 
chair,  and  yielded  to  the  recollections  that  came  rushing 
over  him — to  the  fearful  forebodings  that  cast  their 
shadows  before  —  the  loving  instinct  with  which  Oscar 
had  clung  to  him  from  the  first  moment  they  met ;  his 
confiding,  child-like  temper,  still  the  same,  however 
modified  by  the  growth  of  his  character;  the  brave, 


444 

yet  humble  spirit  in  which  he  now  prepared  for  "the 
supreme  hour,"  that,  perhaps,  he  too  surely  predicted! 

"  Ah !  my  brother !"  exclaimed  he ;  "  loved  but  to  be 
lamented !  found  but  to  be  lost !  How  in  this  hard  world 
am  I — reserved,  perhaps  repulsive,  distrustful — how  am 
I  ever  to  replace  the  love  you  voluntarily  gave  me  ?" 

Absorbed  in  these  reflections,  Walter  was  unconscious 
of  time,  till  a  moan  from  Oscar  arrested  his  attention. 
Starting  up,  he  went  noiselessly  into  his  room  and  ap 
proached  the  bed,  where  he  trusted  to  find  nothing  worse 
than  disturbed  sleep.  He  beheld,  with  horror,  the  life- 
stream  again  issuing  from  his  mouth;  His  face  was 
deadly  pale,  but  perfectly  calm.  He  exerted  himself  to 
extend  a  hand  to  Walter,  then  directed  it  upward.  It 
fell  heavily,  and  a  fresh  gush  of  blood  betrayed  the  ef 
fort  it  had  cost  him. 

His  father  and  the  physician  were  summoned.  The 
face  of  the  latter  confirmed  the  terrors  of  Mr.  Middleton 
and  Walter.  Oscar  alone  was  serene.  In  the  words  of 
the  Oriental  poet, 

"He  alone  could  smile 
While  all  around  him  wept." 

The  usual  remedies  had  some  effect,  but  the  extreme 
exhaustion  was  fearful,  and  the  doctor  felt  himself  com 
pelled  to  admit  to  Mr.  Middleton  his  alarm,  though  with 
some  qualifications. 

Oscar  more  accurately  interpreted  his  condition.  He 
looked  first  at  his  father,  then  at  Walter,  and,  with  an 
expression  evidently  intended  to  remind  him  of  his  re 
quest,  he  motioned  for  his  hand.  When  given,  he  feebly 
clasped  it,  and  Walter,  comprehending  his  wish,  seated 
himself  by  his  side.  A  gentle  inclination  of  his  head 
signified  his  satisfaction.  His  eyes,  full  of  tenderness, 
were  directed  alternately  to  his  father  and  his  friend. 
At  length  they  closed,  and  he  seemed  to  sleep. 


A   PEEP  AT  THE  PAST.  445 

The  physician  left  them  for  half  an  hour,  at  which 
time  he  returned.  He  immediately  detected  a  change. 
He  placed  his  hand  on  the  pulse ;  it  was  weak  and  flut 
tering.  The  eyes  were  partially  open,  but  there  was 
"no  speculation"  in  them!  Their  sense,  now  shut  to 
earth,  was  turned 

"To  the  luminous  side 
Of  Death—" 

and  a  sweet  peace  had  descended  on  the  countenance, 
that  seemed  to  say  "  the  welcome  was  heard  in  the  heav 
enly  world  ere  the  farewell  was  hushed  in  this !" 

In  speechless  sorrow  they  watched  the  gentle  parting, 
which  no  suffering  aggravated.  Mr.  Middleton,  with 
eyes  fixed,  stood  motionless,  as  if  stricken  by  a  hand  in 
visible  to  all  but  him ;  while  Walter,  with  head  inclined, 
whispered  words  of  love  that  could  only  be  answered 
from  the  spirit-land!  The  feeble,  intermitting  pulse 
failed,  the  low,  scarce  audible  breathing,  ceased — Oscar 
was  gone ! 


446  WALTER  THOKNLEY;   OK, 


CHAPTEE  XLIY. 

ON  the  appointed  day,  at  the  soft  twilight  hour,  the 
last  sad  offices  were  performed ;  and  Walter,  seeking, 
when  all  was  done,  "  a  place  where  to  weep,  entered  into 
his  chamber  and  wept  there."  Feelings  restrained  in 
consideration  of  Mr.  Middleton  were  no  longer  to  be 
controlled.  Leaning  his  head  on  his  arms,  crossed  on 
the  table  before  him,  sorrow  subdued  him  as  nothing 
had  ever  done.  That  chill  of  loneliness,  which  death 
only  can  bring,  came  over  him.  As  yet,  he  knew  not 
what  relations  might  exist  between  Mr.  Middleton  and 
himself.  Engrossed  by  the  same  object  of  intense  con 
cern,  their  peculiar  interests  were  so  merged  in  a  com 
mon  sorrow  that,  except  the  first  few  words  of  recogni 
tion,  no  communication  strictly  personal  had  passed  be 
tween  them.  He  had  lost  a  brother ;  he  knew  not  yet 
if  he  had  found  a  father.  That  brother,  too,  the  truth 
ful  friend  on  whom  he  had  relied,  as  an  unfailing  fount 
ain  of  affection ;  and  he  had  so  few  to  love  him !  That 
friend,  whose  unselfish  nature  a  trial  most  unusual  had 
only  more  perfectly  revealed !  "  Why  were  such  things  ?" 

The  great  mystery  of  death  met  him  with  a  power 
such  as  he  had  never  before  felt.  The  strange,  the  in 
conceivable  change  oppressed  him.  He,  who  so  lately 
withheld  not  a  thought  from  him,  had  now  passed  into 
conditions  that  permitted  no  intercommunion !  Again 
and  again  his  heart  asked  the  question,  so  often,  so  un- 
availingly  asked,  " How"  and  "where"  does  he  exist? 
1  'Is  it  under  the  same  lineaments  as  heretofore?  Or, 
as  some  believe,  has  his  pure  nature  formed  for  itself  a 


A  PEEP  AT  THE  PAST.  447 

'celestial  body,'  only  recognized  by  those  who,  in  like 
manner,  are  clothed  upon  by  indestructible  qualities? 
Does  the  emancipated  spirit  move  among  those  bright 
orbs  above  us,  listening  to  melodies 

'Which, 

While  this  muddy  vesture  of  decay 
Doth  grossly  close  us  in,  we  can  not  hear?' 

Is  he  expanding  under  the  teachings  of  those  higher  in 
telligences  whose  sphere  is  Progress  ?  Or,  conforming  to 
eternal  harmonies,  has  he  found  his  fittest  place  among 
those  spirits  like  himself,  whose  ministration  is  love?" 

Lost  in  these  shadowy  imaginings  of  a  better  world, 
he  was  recalled  to  the  present  by  a  tap  at  his  door,  and 
a  servant  handed  him  a  letter.  It  was  from  Mr.  Mid- 
dleton,  and  the  contents  were  as  follows : 

"  I  choose  this  mode  of  communication  because  unfit, 
at  present,  for  any  other. 

"I  am  too  sensible  of  the  delicate  forbearance  with 
which  you  have  refrained  from  all  inquiries,  to  delay  the 
information  to  which  you  are  entitled.  The  confidence 
with  which  I  shall  treat  you  will  be  the  best  assurance 
of  my  affection,  and  my  sense  of  your  wrongs.  Bear 
with  me,  then,  while  I  enter  into  details  of  my  life,  with 
out  which  my  conduct  can  not  be  explained. 

"I  was  the  only  child  of  parents  who,  seeing  in  me 
the  representative  of  an  ancient  and  opulent  family,  un 
fortunately  proportioned  their  indulgence  to  their  esti 
mate  of  my  importance.  This  might  not  of  itself  have 
been  fatal,  had  I  not  been  exposed  to  a  companionship 
that  poisoned  my  mind  and  perverted  my  affections. 

"  In  the  event  of  my  death  without  issue,  the  inherit 
ance  was  to  pass  to  a  cousin,  about  two  years  my  senior. 
This  youth,  an  orphan,  poor  and  dependent,  and,  having 
this  reversionary  claim,  interested  my  parents.  Instead 


448  WALTER   THORNLEY;    OR, 

of  looking  with  a  jealous  eye  on  one  whose  position 
might  be  supposed  to  engender  an  unfriendly  feeling 
toward  me,  they  generously  resolved  to  educate  him  in 
such  a  manner  as  should  fit  him  for  the  condition  which 
Providence  might  possibly  assign  to  him.  Acting  on 
this  principle,  he  was  invited  to  our  house,  and  the  same 
care  and  expense  were  bestowed  on  him  as  on  myself. 
With  a  good  appearance,  a  natural  facility  of  manner, 
and  more  than  ordinary  intelligence,  Warren  Talbot 
soon  made  himself  so  acceptable  to  my  parents,  that  a 
limited  invitation  was  extended  to  a  permanent  arrange 
ment,  and  he  became  a  member  of  our  family.  By 
a  ready  adaptation  to  my  tastes  or  whims,  he  soon 
rendered  himself  indispensable  to  me.  This  was  the 
beginning  of  an  evil  which  parents  more  guarded 
would  have  seen ;  but  I  was  happy,  and  they  were  sat 
isfied. 

"Thus  passed  our  boyhood,  Talbot  maintaining  favor 
with  his  patrons  by  the  most  entire  subserviency  and 
plausibility,  and  obtaining  over  me  a  control  of  which  I 
was  unconscious. 

"  With  years  and  increasing  temptations  his  influence 
became  greater  and  more  dangerous.  Every  youthful 
folly  he  fostered ;  not  by  direct  advice ;  he  was  much 
too  cunning  for  so  false  a  step.  By  feeble  opposition  he 
provoked  my  will  and  stimulated  the  desire.  The  act 
committed,  he  reminded  me  of  his  better  counsel,  and, 
at  the  same  time,  contrived  to  shelter  me  from  the  ef 
fect  of  my  imprudence. 

1  'My  father,  in  compliance  with  his  own  wish,  pur 
chased  an  ensign's  commission  for  him.  Not  that  he 
had  any  genuine  military  taste,  but  he  had  still  less  for 
the  laborious  study  requisite  for  a  learned  profession. 
Subsequently,  by  favor  and  good  luck,  he  rose  to  the 
rank  of  captain,  when  he  sold  out,  having  secured  for 


A   PEEP   AT  THE   PAST.  449 

himself  a  convenient  traveling  title,  and  a  certain  social 
position,  which  answered  his  purpose. 

"  My  father's  death  left  me  master  of  a  fortune,  but, 
unhappily,  not  of  myself.  I  was  still  the  slave  of  Tal- 
bot ;  my  time,  my  occupations,  my  resources,  were  under 
his  control.  Yet  so  admirably  did  his  instinct  of  in 
tense  selfishness  direct  him,  that,  instead  of  resisting  his 
power,  I  was  flattered  by  the  idea  of  my  generous  pro 
tection  of  an  unfortunate  relative. 

"  At  length  a  marriage  was  negotiated  for  me.  It  was 
merely  a  union  of  two  fine  estates.  The  lady  was  hand 
some,  well-educated,  and  intelligent,  and  I  had  no  con 
flicting  preference.  My  mother  urged  it,  because  it 
would  "increase  my  influence;"  and,  in  an  evil  hour 
for  both,  two  young  persons  were  led  to  an  altar  on 
which  happiness  and  integrity  were  sacrificed.  My 
poor  mother  did  not  survive  to  see  the  ruin  she  had  pre 
pared. 

"  Still,  this  marriage,  unblest  as  it  proved,  might  have 
saved  me.  My  wife  was  truthful  and  high-minded,  and, 
brief  as  had  been  our  acquaintance,  was  really  interested 
in  me.  It  was  not  long  before  she  learned  to  distrust 
Talbot,  and  to  dread  his  power  over  me.  She  ventured 
to  caution  me.  My  pride  took  the  alarm,  and  he  was 
too  acute,  and  had  too  much  at  stake,  not  to  discover 
the  uneasiness  between  us,  and  the  cause.  But,  with  his 
usual  adroitness,  he  turned  it  to  his  own  account.  He 
affected  the  most  candid  construction  of  her  motives, 
and  generously  withdrew.  He  absented  himself  long 
enough  to  make  his  presence  indispensable.  He  was 
recalled,  and  more  firmly  established  than  ever ;  and  so 
magnanimous  was  his  deportment,  that,  but  for  that  in 
stinct  by  which  the  truly  good  penetrate  the  glosses  of 
the  wicked  and  designing,  my  wife  would  herself  have 
believed  in  him.  As  it  was,  she  suppressed  all  remon- 


450  WALTER  THORNLEY;  OR, 

strance;  confidence  was  apparently  restored,  but  he 
never  forgave  her. 

"  I  ought  to  say  that,  in  my  delineation  of  Talbot,  I 
give  him  and  his  motives  as  I  now  understand  them, 
from  my  own  experience,  assisted  by  the  communica 
tions  of  Mr.  Grafton,  and  by  papers  that  have  come  into 
my  possession.  At  the  period  to  which  I  refer,  his  spell 
was  still  upon  me.  It  is  now  broken.  Would  to  heaven 
I  had  sooner  seen  him  in  his  true  colors !  I  should  then 
have  comprehended  and  loved  your  mother;  who,  too 
proud  to  solicit  my  affection,  veiled  her  own  under  a 
coldness  that  repelled  me.  Thus  we  lived  till  your 
birth.  Disappointed  in  her  husband,  she  turned  to  her 
child,  with  such  absorption  as,  at  Talbot's  suggestion, 
appeared  an  injury  to  myself;  and  an  event  that  ought 
to  have  drawn  us  together,  only  widened  the  breach. 
Availing  himself  of  the  alienation,  he  proposed  a  Conti 
nental  tour,  which  your  mother,  hopeless  of  resisting  his 
influence,  did  not  oppose,  and  I  left  her  in  the  conviction 
of  her  entire  indifference. 

"  Arrived  in  France,  a  whim  took  me  to  travel  under 
a  feigned  name.  Talbot,  as  usual,  approved,  and,  enlarg 
ing  on  my  original  idea,  which  was  merely  to  escape  the 
responsibilities  that  might  attend  on  my  real  one — an 
annoyance  to  my  constitutional  reserve — he  represented 
me  as  unmarried.  I,  simply  amused  at  his  improvement, 
attached  no  importance  to  it,  and  we  proceeded  on  our 
proposed  route.  After  some  time  passed  in  the  south 
of  France,  Spain,  and  Italy,  we  went  to  Germany.  My 
letters  from  home  were  few  and  brief — little  more  than 
assurances  of  my  child's  health,  and  details  of  such  af 
fairs  as  had  been  intrusted  to  my  wife.  No  laments  for 
my  absence !  no  longings  for  my  return !  Why,  indeed, 
should  such  have  been  ?  Even  were  they  felt,  as  I  have 
now  reason  to  believe,  how  could  a  proud  and  neglected 
wife  utter  them  ? 


A  PEEP  AT  THE   PAST.  451 

"  At  a  German  watering-place  we  met  a  family  whose 
manners  and  accomplishments  attracted  my  attention,  and 
we  soon  ascertained  that  their  rank  was  in  keeping  with 
their  appearance.  I  can  not  dwell  on  this  event — the 
origin  at  once  of  my  greatest  happiness !  my  bitterest 
woe !  Let  it  suffice  that,  in  that  family  I  met  with  the 
woman  who  first  and  forever  fixed  my  love — my  la 
mented  Theresa!  Even  to  you,  son  of  a  much-injured 
woman,  I  can  not  but  hold  this  language,  for  you  have 
seen  her,  and,  from  what  she  then  was,  can  well  im 
agine  her  in  the  flower  of  youth!  still  more  beautiful  in 
mind  and  heart  than  in  person. 

"At  such  places  acquaintance  soon  ripens  into  inti 
macy.  We  met  daily,  hourly ;  our  intercourse  of  that 
unceremonious,  cordial  character,  which  German  simplic 
ity  and  kindliness  on  her  part,  and  the  secret  security  of 
a  married  man  on  mine,  encouraged.  Week  after  week 
I  prolonged  my  stay ;  yet  it  was  not  till  the  day  of  sep 
aration  drew  nigh  that  I  was  aware  of  the  suffering  it 
would  cost  me.  To  meet  this,  however,  I  called  up  ev 
ery  thing  of  manly  and  upright  in  my  nature.  Whatev 
er  might  be  my  indifference  to  my  wife,  or  the  fascina 
tions  of  Theresa,  I  was  resolved  not  to  violate  duty  to 
the  one,  nor  attempt  to  secure,  even  were  it  possible,  the 
sympathy  of  the  other. 

"  It  would  have  been  strange  if  Talbot,  to  whose  anal 
ysis  I  had  so  long  been  subjected,  had  not  discovered 
the  cause  of  my  disturbance ;  and  equally  so  had  he 
not  turned  it  to  his  own  ends.  Dreading  the  influence 
my  wife  might  yet  obtain  over  me,  supported  by  her 
child,  his  part- was  to  make  himself  essential  to  me. 
In  no  way  could  this  be  so  effectually  done  as  by  the 
unprincipled  course  he  at  once  devised.  Affecting  the 
deepest  sympathy  with  me,  lamenting  my  unfortunate 
position,  he  then,  with  the  utmost  adroitness,  insinuated 


452  WALTER  THORNLEY  ;    OR, 

'  the  coldness  of  my  wife,  her  ample  fortune  independent 
of  myself,  the  honorable  position  which  my  name  and 
connections  afforded  her ;  that,  by  what  the  world  called 
"  desertion"  I  took  nothing  from  her  but  that  which  she 
valued  least — my  person.  The  only  consideration,  there 
fore,  was  what  I  myself  would  sacrifice  or  gain  by  fol 
lowing  the  dictates  of  my  heart.  This  was  for  me  to 
decide.' 

"But  his  sophistry  did  not  blind  me.  I  resisted;  I 
did  more,  I  despised  it,  and  quarreled  with  him  outright. 
In  reply  to  my  reproaches  of  his  perfidious  counsels  he 
humbled  himself,  pleaded  his  devotion  to  my  happiness, 
and  made  his  peace. 

"  We  were  about  to  depart.  My  trunks  were  packed  j 
every  preparation  made.  I  went  to  take  leave,  and, 
while  I  waited  the  entrance  of  Theresa,  most  unhappily 
overheard  a  conversation  in  an  adjoining  room,  between 
her  mother  and  sister,  which  left  me  no  doubt  that  the 
sentiment  I  entertained  for  her  was  reciprocated.  At 
this  moment,  when  my  brain  and  heart  were  on  fire  with 
the  discovery,  she  appeared.  The  effort  she  made  to 
seem  calm  only  confirmed  what  I  had  just  heard.  Pru 
dence,  duty,  honor,  were  forgotten !  and,  instead  of  the 
leave-taking  for  which  I  had  gone,  we  parted  after  a  mu 
tual  avowal  of  affection,  and  a  solemn  promise  to  meet 
again,  and  forever ! 

"  The  die  was  cast.  Intoxicated  by  my  passion,  I  per 
suaded  myself  that  nothing  now  remained  but  to  carry 
out  that  which  destiny  had  cast  upon  me.  I  no  longer 
resisted  Talbot.  I  invited  his  false  and  treacherous  ad 
vice  ;  and,  stifling  every  emotion  but  love,  triumphant 
love!  I  surrendered  myself  into  his  hands — and  the 
woman  I  adored,  whose  purity  and  unconscious  in 
nocence  I  worshiped,  I  basely  betrayed  by  an  illegal 
marriage !  Animated  by  a  sentiment  as  strong,  and  far 


A   PEEP   AT   THE   PAST.  453 

more  holy  than  my  own,  she  hesitated  at  no  sacrifice, 
but  consented  to  go  with  me  immediately  to  America, 
reasons  for  which  were  easily  manufactured  by  Talbot 
— the  principal,  a  family  rupture,  which  accounted  not 
only  for  present  separation,  but  for  the  perpetual  es 
trangement  to  follow. 

"  We  came.  It  would  be  a  treason  to  Yirtue  that  I 
will  not  perpetrate  to  say  that  I  was  happy.  There 
were,  indeed,  moments  of  delirious  felicity,  when  I  for 
got  every  thing.  But  even  then  I  paid  her  an  involun 
tary  homage,  by  rejoicing  in  the  angelic  innocence  which 
continually  reproached  me. 

"My  assumed  name,  and  the  precautions  taken  by 
Talbot,  sufficiently  concealed  the  place  of  my  retreat. 

"  He  returned  to  England,  and  contrived  to  elude  sus 
picion  of  his  participation  in  my  guilt.  He  was  prob 
ably  believed  by  all  but  my  wife.  Her  conduct  was 
marked  by  the  same  dignified  forbearance.  She  did  not 
attempt  to  penetrate  my  disguise,  nor  to  follow  me  with 
reproaches.  I  was  as  much  lost  to  her  as  if  the  grave 
had  closed  over  me.  But  her  child  remained,  and  filled 
the  heart  my  baseness  would  have  made  a  desert. 

' '  The  devices  of  Talbot  were  not  yet  exhausted.  There 
was  still  to  be  perpetrated  another  villainy,  by  which  to 
bind  me  to  him.  I  am  willing  to  believe  that  the  orig 
inal  impulse  to  the  unprincipled  act  was  to  relieve  me, 
though,  when  committed,  he  quickly  saw  how  available 
it  might  be  to  himself.  He  knew  that,  though  I  did  not 
regret  my  wife ;  that,  though  I  had  steeled  myself  against 
all  considerations  of  country  and  the  duties  of  my  posi 
tion,  there  were  yet  moments  when  the  loss  of  my  son, 
of  my  only  legitimate  offspring,  and  the  contempt  and 
abhorrence  in  which  he  would  be  trained  to  regard  me, 
weighed  on  my  spirit — when  I  felt  that  the  ruin  I  had 
wrought  was  to  descend  on  me  in  the  shape  I  could  least 


454  WALTER  THORNLEY;    OR, 

well  bear — when  paroxysms  of  remorse  rendered  me  al 
most  a  maniac. 

"It  was  in  such  a  moment  that  he  overwhelmed  me  by 
telling  me  that  my  child  was  in  this  country !  Under 
the  same  sky  with  myself! 

"  The  conflict  into  which  I  was  thrown  by  this  com 
munication  is  not  to  be  described.  The  outrage  to  my 
wife  absorbed  every  other  feeling.  Every  personal  con 
sideration  vainly  struggled  against  the  irreparable,  the 
aggravated  injury  inflicted  on  her.  But  here  again  the 
tempter,  in  the  shape  of  Talbot,  was  at  hand :  '  She  be 
lieved  him  dead.  A  careless  nurse  had  left  him  at  play 
on  the  border  of  a  stream  that  watered  the  grounds — 
the  opportunity  had  been  seized — the  child  carried  off, 
and  his  hat  cast  in  the  river  to  suggest  that  he  had  fallen 
in.'  Meanwhile,  Talbot,  not  known  by  her  to  have  been 
in  England  at  the  time,  with  that  facility  which  some 
times  attends  the  wicked,  as  if  to  damn  them  by  suc 
cess,  was  bearing  the  child  across  the  ocean  while  his 
mother  bewailed  him  as  drowned. 

"  '  But  the  injury,'  he  argued,  '  to  her  was  temporary. 
The  death  of  a  young  child  was  an  ordinary  calamity. 
"  Time,  the  consoler,"  was  already  having  its  effect.  The 
relief  to  myself  was  permanent,  and  the  benefit  to  the 
child  greater  than  could  be  estimated.  Instead  of  un 
limited  indulgence,  the  victim  of  a  desolate  wife's  dot 
ing  fondness,  and  then  of  his  own  vices,  he  might  here 
be  trained  in  a  wholesome  simplicity,  and  under  proper 
restraint.  When  these  had  done  their  work,  he  could, 
if  I  so  chose,  be  restored  to  his  mother — grateful  to  the 
father  who  had  rescued  him  from  the  seductions  her 
love  would  have  spread  around  him.  He,  Talbot,  had, 
however,  he  must  own,  been  moved  to  do  what  he  had 
done  mainly  by  regard  for  my  happiness.' 

"The  considerations  affecting  my  son's  character  had 


A  PEEP  AT  THE   PAST.  455 

their  influence.  I  shuddered  at  a  repetition  of  the  weak 
indulgence  that  had  wrecked  my  fame  and  peace,  and  I 
submitted  to  what  seemed  inevitable.  The  best  arrange 
ment  to  be  made  for  him  was  next  to  be  decided.  To 
introduce  him  into  my  family  was  impossible.  I  must, 
then,  seek  elsewhere  for  the  protection  and  guidance 
that  could  not  be  extended  to  him  under  my  own  roof; 
for  which,  in  my  perplexity  and  agitation,  I  declared 
that  I  was  ready  to  make  any  amount  of  compensation 
— of  course,  as  I  could  not  encounter  the  risk  of  dis 
covery,  to  pass  through  Talbot's  hands.  Here,  undoubt 
edly,  the  temptation  to  his  subsequent  villainy  insinu 
ated  itself.  This  I  infer  from  the  fact  that  measures 
were  taken  from  the  first  to  prevent  all  direct  communi 
cation,  however  secret,  between  my  child  and  myself. 
I  was  deceived  as  to  the  name  he  bore,  that  of  the  per 
son  to  whom  he  was  intrusted,  and  even  the  place  where 
he  lived.  How  Talbot  had  heard  of  Mr.  Grafton  I  have 
no  means  of  knowing  amid  all  this  mystification.  But 
I  can  well  believe  that,  to  a  man  like  him,  the  slightest 
allusion  to  a  person  whose  character  and  seclusion  were 
just  what  he  wanted,  would  not  be  lost;  and,  as  he 
never  failed  in  effrontery,  his  application  does  not  sur 
prise  me. 

"Talbot  kept  up  his  relations  with  England;  I,  of 
course,  had  none,  but  such  as  were  necessary  to  secure 
and  receive  my  revenues,  for  which  he  was  my  agent. 
He  wandered  about,  leading,  as  he  said,  a  bachelor's 
life ;  while  I,  in  retirement,  knew  only  of  his  movements 
and  pursuits  what  he  chose  to  reveal.  From  time  to 
time  he  gave  me  satisfactory  intelligence  of  my  son,  and 
rendered  such  accounts  as  were  convenient  to  himself 
of  the  disbursements  for  his  benefit. 

"To  my  lamented  Oscar  succeeded  other  children 
more  vigorous ;  but  all  were  taken.  These  losses  touch- 


456  WALTER  THORNLEY;    OR, 

ed  us  deeply,  though,  differently.  To  the  mother  sor 
row  brought  '  airs  from  heaven,'  that  breathed  into  her 
soul  intimations  of  a  better  world,  where  she  should  re 
join  them.  To  me  it  was  a  '  blast  from  hell,'  burning 
into  my  spirit  a  sentence  of  condemnation  and  eternal 
separation. 

"  At  length  occurred  our  visit  to  Lebanon,  where  I 
was  to  behold  my  unknown  first-born.  I  remember 
well  the  moment  of  meeting,  because  the  name  of 
*  Walter'  struck  me.  It  was  that  of  my  son,  and  I  saw 
with  some  interest  the  boy  who  bore  it.  Talbot  had 
probably  permitted  you  to  retain  it  in  order  to  secure 
your  childish  confidence.  But  so  effectual  had  been  his 
precautions  that  no  suspicion  crossed  my  mind.  Yet, 
though  not  bearing  a  marked  resemblance  to  any  one 
of  my  family,  you  were  sufficiently  of  that  type  to  recall 
it,  and  I  sometimes  wondered  *  who  it  was  of  whom  you 
reminded  me !'  Other  things,  however,  inspired  me  with 
a  regard  for  you,  which  I  would  gladly  have  proved. 
An  opportunity  offered,  but,  like  every  good  purpose 
of  mine,  my  evil  genius  was  at  hand  to  prevent  it.  An 
application  on  your  behalf  came  from  Mr.  Grafton.  I 
was  ill  in  bed,  and  Talbot  by  my  side.  I  was  unable  to 
use  my  eyes,  and  he  read  the  letter  for  me ;  and  on  my 
regretting  my  inability  to  reply  immediately,  he  offered 
to  write  at  my  dictation.  He  appeared  to  do  so.  I  re 
quested  you  to  make  my  house  your  home,  while  I 
should  use  my  best  endeavors  for  you.  For  this  he 
substituted  what  he  pleased.  I  am  not  surprised  at  the 
reception  you  gave  his  letter. 

"In  addition  to  the  usual  remittances  designed  for 
you,  but  as  I  now  know  never  received,  he  contrived 
to  obtain  money  on  your  account  under  various  pre 
texts.  On  one  occasion,  '  the  excellent  man'  with  whom 
he  stated  you  to  be  living, '  a  country  clergyman  with  a 


A  PEEP  AT  THE  PAST.  457 

small  salary,  had  met  with  what  to  him  was  a  heavy  pe 
cuniary  loss;'  and  he  urged  so  forcibly  the  making  you 
the  medium  of  relief  to  him,  that  I  gave  him  a  draft  for 
the  amount  required.  At  another  time  you  'had  un 
wittingly  fallen  among  sharpers,  and  had  been  cheated 
out  of  nearly  a  year's  allowance.  You  were  a  minor, 
and  might  thus  evade  the  payment,  but  the  effect  on 
your  own  mind  would  be  bad :  it  was,  after  all,  a  youth 
ful  indiscretion,'  etc.  Without  waiting  farther  argu 
ment  I  advanced  the  money. 

"  By  similar  devices,  and  the  representations  of  your 
naturally  increasing  wants,  you  will  perceive  how  im 
portant  to  the  vampire  was  his  hold  on  me.  At  the 
same  time,  you  will  wonder  at  a  fatuity  so  gross  as  hard 
ly  to  be  believed — at  such  confidence  in  a  man  whose 
loose  morality  must  have  been  apparent.  But  you  must 
recollect  that,  besides  an  original  fatal  facility  on  my  part, 
which  these  disclosures  sufficiently  betray,  I  could  not 
afford  to  distrust  him.  He  had  my  dearest  secret  in  his 
keeping.  A  word  or  look  that  suggested  a  doubt  to 
Theresa  would  destroy  us  both !  Never,  therefore,  did 
man  more  earnestly  desire  to  believe  in  the  faith  of  his 
wife  than  did  I  in  that  of  Talbot.  Another  considera 
tion  held  me  in  his  power  with  a  sort  of  fascination. 
He  was  the  only  being  to  whom  I  could  be  true !  To 
the  angel  who  lay  in  my  bosom  I  was  habitually  a  hyp 
ocrite  ;  to  this  man,  the  incarnation  of  falsehood,  I  could 
speak  the  truth !  t 

"  It  may  naturally  be  asked,  as  time  passed  on,  what 
plans  I  had  formed  for  you?  None.  With  an  imbe 
cile  indecision — the  result  of  the  labyrinth  in  which  I 
had  involved  myself— I  made  no  provision  for  a  future 
I  dared  not  think  of,  quieting  my  perplexities  by  the 
reflection  that,  in  the  event  of  my  death,  you  must  suc- 

U 


4:58  WALTER  THORNLEY;  OR, 

ceed  to  a  large  entailed  estate,  your  claim  to  which  Tal- 
bot  would  establish. 

"  From  Mr.  Grafton  I  learned  his  design  against  Miss 
Meredith.  It  was  in  keeping  with  his  whole  life. 
Though  incapable  of  love,  he  was  not  insensible  to  beau 
ty,  and  he  wanted  money.  He  would  not,  therefore,  hes 
itate  to  secure  her  by  fraud,  confident  of  powers  that  had 
never  yet  failed  him  to  make  his  peace  afterward.  He 
had  the  same  reliance  on  these  that  some  men  have  on 
their  'star.'  This  is  observable  in  his  conduct  toward 
you,  the  particulars  of  which  I  have  obtained  from  Mr. 
Grafton.  He  never  doubted  his  ability  to  delude  you ; 
to  keep  you  in  check,  as  by  an  unseen  hand ;  to  coun 
teract  you  in  the  dark;  to  mystify  and  to  intimidate; 
and  thus  to  maintain  his  strange  hold  upon  you.  His 
apparent  success  justified  his  presumption.  Your  first 
attempt  at  emancipation  he  defeated,  as  he  believed,  by 
the  substituted  letter.  He  then  left  New  York  for  a 
time ;  and  though,  on  his  return,  he  found  you  there, 
the  threat  that  followed  you  to  Ashton  seemed  to  have 
its  effect,  for  you  did  not  reappear  in  the  city.  When 
he  discovered  your  relations  with  Mr.  Meredith,  and  you 
were  met  by  a  still  sterner  mandate,  you  instantly  de 
parted.  Again,  as  Mr.  Grafton  believes,  he  crossed  your 
path  in  the  woods  of  Kosenberg,  and  again,  to  all  ap 
pearance,  you  retreated,  as  if  conscious  of  your  inability 
to  struggle  against  him.  Thus  confirmed  in  his  self-con 
fidence,  and  always  on  his  guard,  1  doubt  if,  by  word  or 
look,  he  ever  permitted  it  to  appear  to  the  Merediths 
that  he  was  conscious  such  a  person  as  "Walter  Thornley 
existed. 

"  But,  triumphant  as  had  been  his  artifices,  they  reached 
their  limit.  A  transaction,  not  connected  with  you,  ex 
cited  my  suspicion.  I  asked  for  an  explanation,  which 
was  not  satisfactory,  and  we  parted,  on  bad  terms.  This 


A   PEEP   AT  THE   PAST.  459 

was  immediately  after  the  death  of  Theresa.  Had  she 
still  lived  it  would  not  have  happened ;  for,  strange  to 
say,  she,  his  victim  not  less  than  mine,  was  a  link  be 
tween  us.  I  would  have  submitted  to  be  cheated  and 
trampled  on  forever,  rather  than  rouse  him  to  disturb 
her  repose.  I  ought,  too,  in  justice,  to  say  that,  such 
was  his  reverence  for  her — the  only  pure  sentiment  in 
his  breast — that  he  would  unwillingly  have  inflicted 
misery  on  her. 

"  This  restraint  removed,  his  tactics  were  now  changed ; 
and,  perceiving  my  growing  distrust,  he  resolved  to  leave 
me  to  my  fate,  and  propitiate  you  and  your  mother.  To 
this  course  he  was  the  more  impelled  by  a  letter  from 
England,  threatening  him  with  disgraceful  disclosures, 
unless  a  certain  sum,  long  due,  were  paid  by  a  given 
time.  This  letter,  found  in  his  port-folio,  had  no  signa 
ture  except  initials,  to  me  unintelligible.  I  mention  this 
fact,  apparently  unimportant,  from  its  bearing  on  what 
afterward  occurred.  He  resolved  on  an  immediate  re 
turn  to  England,  there  to  restore  you  to  your  mother,  as 
having  been  cared  for  and  saved  by  himself,  out  of  which 
he  was,  of  course,  to  make  his  profit ;  charging  me,  no 
doubt,  with  your  abduction,  and  the  neglect  in  which 
you  were  subsequently  left.  I,  meanwhile,  ignorant  of 
these  allegations,  and,  if  suspecting  his  previous  frauds, 
unable  to  prove  them,  could  neither  defend  myself  nor 
inculpate  him.  This  move  had  plainly  been  his  'strong 
card,'  to  be  resorted  to  on  any  emergency. 

"  It  may,  perhaps,  be  wondered  why  a  man  so  unscru 
pulous  had  not  played  a  deeper  game — you  only  being 
between  him  and  my  estate,  and  you  in  his  power.  To 
me  this  is  easily  explained.  His  course  had  been  shaped 
by  circumstances,  not  an  originally  concerted  plan ;  and, 
while  continually  entangling  himself  more  and  more  in 
falsehood  and  depredation,  it  is  evident  that  he  expect- 


460  WALTEK  THOKNLEY;  OK, 

ed,  not  only  by  his  never-failing  ingenuity  to  escape  de 
tection,  but  to  dupe  the  son  as  successfully  as  he  had  the 
father.  But,  more  than  this,  Talbot  was  a  coward. 
There  is  no  trickery  of  which  he  was  not  capable.  He 
was  a  manoeuvrer  en  amateur.  As  in  art  to  an  artist, 
so,  to  him,  in  morals,  'the  curved  line  was  the  line  of 
beauty.'  But  he  had  not  the  courage  for  great  crime. 
His  was  the  temper  of  a  subtle  scoundrel,  not  the  nerve 
of  a  relentless  villain. 

"  And  now  comes  the  crisis  of  our  fate.  The  judg 
ment  of  God  overtook  him  when  he  felt  most  confident 
of  success !  and  Mr.  Grafton  came  to  lay  before  me  doc 
uments  which  implicated  me,  without  clearly  defining  to 
what  extent.  Of  our  interview  you  have  heard  what 
was  necessary  at  the  time.  I  can  not  go  over  moments 
of  such  humiliation.  I  admitted,  without  hesitation,  the 
parentage  of  a  son,  of  whom  any  father  might  be  proud, 
but  I  entreated  to  be  spared  details,  and  an  open  ac 
knowledgment,  till  Oscar  was  in  a  condition  to  bear  it. 
All  I  asked  was  time.  Meanwhile,  I  wished  you  to  be 
with  him,  to  strengthen  the  attachment  he  already  felt, 
and  thus  to  reconcile  him,  in  some  degree,  to  the  disclo 
sure  that  must  come.  I  little  thought  the  match  was 
even  then  applied  to  a  train  that  must  explode  to  his  de 
struction  ! 

"  Among  Talbot's  papers  a  sealed  letter  was  found, 
addressed  to  a  person  in  England,  whose  name  was  un 
known  to  me.  Not  conceiving  myself  to  have  a  right 
to  read  or  withhold  what  did  not  appear  to  have  any 
connection  with  myself,  without  suspicion  or  reflection  I 
sent  it  to  its  destination.  Thus  my  own  hand  discharged 
the  engine  leveled  at  my  peace  I  The  letter  proved  to 
be  to  the  very  person  whose  threat  had  precipitated  Tal 
bot's  decision.  He  had  so  often  foiled  the  man  by  prom 
ises,  that  he  saw  it  necessary,  in  order  to  obtain  delay, 


A  PEEP  AT  THE   PAST.  461 

to  give  him  an  assurance  that  would  satisfy  him.  Not 
doubting  your  acquiescence  in  his  plan,  and  sure  that 
he  should  follow  his  letter  immediately,  he  ventured  on 
the  bold  step  of  confiding  to  him  your  existence,  and  your 
supposed  name,  with  his  own  pretended  claims  upon  you 
— -just  what,  without  committing  himself,  would  secure 
the  forbearance  of  his  creditor.  The  same  ship  that  car 
ried  the  letter  conveyed  the  news  of  Talbot's  death,  and 
the  man,  deprived  of  farther  reliance  on  him,  immediate 
ly  communicated  its  contents  to  your  mother. 

"  The  appearance  of  Mr.  Bolton  is  now  explained.  I 
have  only  to  add  to  these  details — all,  in  some  sort,  nec 
essary — that  your  delicacy  to  myself,  and  your  devotion 
to  your  unfortunate  brother,  have  touched  me  beyond 
the  power  of  words  to  express.  All  that  I  can  do  for 
your  happiness  shall  be  done.  Personally,  I  can  not  add 
to  it.  Leave  me,  therefore,  if  you  would  be  happy.  I 
am  but  a  weight  to  drag  you  down  to  misery !  Even 
while  I  write,  I  am  taught  that  avenging  Heaven  turns 
aside  every  blessing  that  might  fall  on  me !  A  letter 
just  put  into  my  hands  informs  me  that,  on  the  intelli 
gence  of  my  poor  Theresa's  death,  her  only  brother, 
Baron  von  Ehrenfelt,  has  proposed  to  adopt  her  son. 
He  has  no  child,  and  his  name  and  fortune  are  offered  to 
Oscar!  thus,  generously  shielding  from  disgrace,  and 
loss  of  position,  my  innocent  boy !  Nor  is  this  the  first 
strong  expression  of  the  love  he  bore  his  sister.  A  mere 
child  at  the  time  she  left  Germany,  he  did  not  forget 
her.  About  eighteen  months  since,  being  in  England, 
a  rumor  reached  him  of  her  actual  position.  The  vil 
lainous  fact  was  made  sufficiently  clear  to  his  farther  in 
vestigations,  and  he  instantly  took  passage  for  this  coun 
try,  in  order  to  find  and  rescue  her.  Here,  again,  Tal- 
bot  interposed,  but  this  time  to  save  me.  He  was  a  fel 
low-passenger.  He  soon  discovered  Ehrenfelt,  and  in- 


462  WALTER  THORNLEY;  OR, 

sinuated  himself  into  liis  confidence,  his  own  share  in 
the  transaction,  of  course,  unsuspected.  He  was  only 
known  as  my  connection,  and,  from  long  intimacy  with 
me,  well  fitted  to  be  an  adviser ;  and  such  were  his  rep 
resentations  of  his  sister's  happiness,  of  our  mutual  de 
votion,  of  her  unconsciousness,  and  consequent  inno 
cence,  of  the  wretchedness  and  wide-spread  disgrace 
that  must  follow,  should  he  interfere,  that  Ehrenfelt, 
overcome  by  his  specious  arguments,  yielded  to  expedi 
ency,  and  even  forebore  an  attempt  to  see  her.  At  the 
same  time,  Talbot  warned  me  of  my  danger.  I  fled 
with  my  treasures  to  the  south,  and  Ehrenfelt  returned 
to  Europe. 

"  Oscar  is  beyond  the  reach  of  reproach.  But  can  I 
fail  to  see  in  this  aggravation  of  my  loss,  this  unavailing 
provision  to  soften  the  blow  I  had  prepared  for  him,  the 
sentence  that  has  gone  forth  against  me  ?  I  am  the  ac 
cursed  thing — touch  me  not  lest  you  die !  I  am  the 
deadly  tree,  under  whose  shade  happiness  can  not  live ; 
whose  bitter  fruit  has  been  guilt  and  woe ;  whose  wounds 
distill  poison ;  and  from  which  even  the  blessed  dews 
of  heaven,  descending,  are  converted  into  drops  that 
scald  as  they  fall.  Be  warned,  and  leave  me ! 

"Do  not,  Walter,  regard  this  as  a  burst  of  passion, 
wrung  from  me  in  the  exasperation  of  the  moment.  It 
is  the  conviction  of  my  reason.  My  conduct  must  be  so 
repellent  to  a  nature  truthful  as  yours,  as  to  create  a 
barrier  which  even  duty  can  not  surmount;  and  I  am 
still  too  proud  to  owe  to  compassion  what  I  can  not 
command  from  respect.  I  feel  that  the  conflict  of  my 
life  has  made  its  impression  on  my  health.  What  of 
time  remains  to  me  I  would  make,  in  some  small  degree, 
an  atonement  for  the  past.  You  need  not  be  told  that 
your  first  duty  is  to  your  mother.  My  wish,  so  far  as 
I  have  a  right  to  express  one,  is  that  you  hasten  to  her. 


A  PEEP  AT  THE   PAST.  463 

She  and  you  must  decide  your  future  plans.  She  will, 
of  course,  retain  you  in  England,  and  form  for  you  such 
connections  as  will,  I  trust,  promote  your  happiness. 
My  resources  are  at  your  command  in  any  way  that  you 
shall  suggest.  GODFREY  CECIL." 

The  humble,  broken,  yet  proud  spirit  that  spoke  in 
this  letter,  affected  Walter  with  a  contrariety  of  emo 
tions:  condemnation  that  he  could  not  but  feel;  pity 
that  he  did  not  attempt  to  repress;  indignation  and 
wonder  at  such  a  tissue  of  folly,  selfishness,  rashness, 
and  crime !  Yet  he  could  not  be  unmindful  of  the  con 
stant,  though  fruitless  efforts  of  his  father  for  his  benefit. 
One  thought,  however,  absorbed  all  others.  "If  sym 
pathy  were  ever  called  for,  it  was,"  he  reflected,  "  when 
the  soul,  conscious  of  wrong,  sought  the  right — when, 
sore  in  the  war  of  passion,  remorse,  and  pride,  it  required 
healing — when,  in  its  utter  self-abasement,  its  faith  in 
the  reality  of  virtue  needed  to  be  quickened.  But  he 
would  not,  could  not  write!"  Starting  from  his  chair, 
he  hastened  from  the  room,  and  ventured  to  appear  un 
called  in  his  father's  presence. 

There  it  is  scarcely  well  to  follow  him.  A  parent 
humbling  himself  before  his  child — entreaties  for  for 
giveness  mingling  with  self-denunciations — his  whole 
heart  exposed  and  prostrate — is  too  painful  and  too  sa 
cred  to  be  trifled  with  by  inadequate  description.  It  is 
enough  to  say  that  the  generous  purpose  of  Walter  pre 
vailed  ;  that  so  tenderly,  yet  so  uprightly,  did  he  deal 
with  his  father,  and  so  entirely  did  he  convince  him  of 
his  filial  sentiment,  that  confidence  was  established  be 
tween  them. 

"It  was  his  own  desire,"  he  assured  him,  "to  be 
guided  by  him  in  all  things."  To  this  he  added  a  re 
quest  to  defer  the  recognition  of  their  relationship,  till 
his  return  from  England. 


464  WALTER  THORNLEY;  OR, 

"  There  has  been,"  he  said,  u  enough  of  agitation.  Let 
us  be  spared  at  present  from  curious  eyes  and  tongues. 
It  is  sufficient  that  we  have  no  reserves — that  we  under 
stand  each  other.  So  far  as  the  world  has  any  concern 
with  the  matter,  let  it  make  itself  known  with  as  little 
circumstance  as  may  be.  Six  months,  or  a  year  hence, 
when  Walter  Cecil  shall  appear,  the  unknown,  obscure 
Walter  Thornley  will  have  been  forgotten ;  or  the  two 
will  only  be  identical  to  those  who  have  an  interest  in 
the  individual." 

A  pressure  of  the  hand,  and  a  grateful  look  from  his 
father,  expressed  his  acquiescence. 


A  PEEP  AT  THE  PAST.  465 


CHAPTER  XLY. 

A  FORTNIGHT  had  elapsed  since  Walter's  last  visit  to 
the  Oaks.  In  the  mean  time,  through  Mr.  Grafton,  he 
had  learned  of  Eleanor's  grief  and  dejection,  which  that 
gentleman,  imputing  entirely  to  a  cause  which  only  in 
part  explained  it,  and  misunderstanding  the  relations 
that  had  subsisted  between  him  and  Eleanor,  conceived 
it  well  to  represent  in  as  strong  language  as  truth  would 
permit.  "It  would,"  he  reflected,  "effectually  damp 
any  lingering  hope,  if  such  still  existed,  and  better  nerve 
him  for  the  new  career  on  which  he  was  to  enter ;  leav 
ing  his  mind  free  to  gratify  the  wishes  that  his  mother 
might  form  for  him,  and  thus  enable  him  to  promote  the 
happiness  of  a  parent  to  whose  wrongs  so  much  was 
due." 

On  the  occasion  of  Walter's  last  hasty  call,  he  had 
made  it  so  evident  to  Eleanor  that  his  only  wish  was  to 
see  Mr.  Grafton,  as  to  pain  and  surprise  her.  Pride, 
however,  came  to  her  relief. 

"Well,"  thought  she,  "if  he  prefers,  for  some  unex 
plained  reason,  to  withdraw  even  his  friendship,  so  be  it. 
He  shall  see  that  I  regret  it  as  little  as  himself." 

But  the  sorrow  called  forth  by  the  death  of  Oscar — 
natural,  unconscious,  and  therefore  freely  manifested — 
unnerved  her.  It  was  the  first  breach  made  in  the 
youthful  circle — her  first  view  of  the  Destroyer!  and 
her  susceptible  nature  fainted  and  shivered  under  the 
revelation.  "Ah!  who  does  not  remember  the  time 
when  the  stern  fact  of  mortality  broke  in  upon  the  gay 
fancies  of  youth!"  It  was  not  strange  that  emotions  so 
strong  should  have  been  misinterpreted,  nor  that  the 

U2 


466  WALTER  THORNLEY;  OR, 

sadness  that  succeeded,  however  compounded  with  oth 
er  feelings,  should  be  referred  to  the  same  cause. 

Walter,  on  whose  heart  lay  the  trust  that  Oscar  had 
imposed  in  regard  to  Eleanor,  had  delayed  to  discharge 
it  in  the  desire  to  obtain  the  calmness  and  self-posses 
sion  required.  But  circumstances  pressed  upon  him. 
The  voyage  to  England  was  decided ;  his  preparations 
were  nearly  completed ;  and,  having  no  longer  time  nor 
excuse  for  procrastination,  he  ordered  his  horse,  and, 
mounting  him  with  somewhat  the  feeling  of  going  into 
mortal  conflict,  turned  his  course  to  the  Oaks. 

Eleanor  had  been  passing  the  morning  with  her  aunt, 
when  Mr.  Grafton  entered  with  a  note  from  Mr.  Middle- 
ton.  Drawing  his  wife  a  little  apart,  they  conversed  a 
few  moments  in  a  suppressed  tone,  Eleanor  unheeding 
till  the  name  of  Thornley  fell  on  her  ear,  followed  by 
the  words,  "  Sails  for  England  in  a  few  days."  The 
matter  of  the  conversation  was  evidently  private ;  nor 
could  she,  if  permitted,  then  have  asked  a  question. 
Her  only  resource  was  to  fly ;  and,  shutting  herself  in 
her  own  room,  tears  that  pride  could  not  restrain  burst 
forth. 

"  Yes,"  she  exclaimed,  "  he  is  going,  perhaps,  forever ! 
and  not  a  line,  not  a  word  of  regret,  nor  even  of  informa 
tion.  How  is  he  estranged !  To  England !  What  can 
take  him  there?  Business  of  Mr.  Middleton's?  But 
no  matter.  We,  his  first  friends,  are  now  nothing ;  this 
strange,  disagreeable  Mr.  Middleton  every  thing,"  added 
she,  petulantly.  Then,  her  frank  and  generous  nature 
more  grieved  than  offended,  she  continued,  "  /could  not 
so  treat  a  friend.  Where  I  had  once  given  my  confi 
dence  I  could  not  withdraw  it  without  cause." 

Phyllis  tapped  at  the  door,  and  was  reluctantly  ad 
mitted. 

"  I  see  a  gen'elman  ridin'  up  trou'  de  trees,  missis.    I 


A  PEEP  AT   THE   PAST.  467 

t'ink  dat  ar  same  gen'elman  com'd  here  while  ago — Mr. 
Torn'y  t'ink  dey  call  'im." 

" Oh,"  cried  Eleanor,  "I  can  not — I  will  not  see  him 
now.  'Tis  impossible,"  she  continued,  catching  a  view 
of  her  face  in  an  opposite  mirror — "  impossible !" 

Never  waiting  for  second  thoughts,  Phyllis,  as  usual, 
rushed  down  stairs,  and  met  Walter  alighting  at  the  door 
with  an  inquiry  for  Miss  Meredith. 

A  country-bred  girl,  untrained  as  yet  to  the  polite 
qualifications  by  which  those  better  taught  know  how 
to  soften  the  refusal  of  city  dames  to  shine  upon  their 
worshipers,  Phyllis  dropped  a  courtesy,  and  answered 
without  circumlocution. 

"  My  missis  say,  sar,  she  won't  come  down." 

"Walter,  with  a  look  of  surprise,  inquired  if  she  were  ill. 

"No,  sar,"  replied  she,  with  much  composure;  "she 
bery  well — on'y  she  say  she  don't  want  to  see  you,  sar." 

"Did  she  say  so?" 

"  Sartin,  sar,"  replied  the  affronted  little  femme  de 
chambre.  "  I  neber  tell  no  lies." 

"Does  she  see  any  body?" 

"Yes,  sar;  be  sure.  All  de  gen'elnien  and  ladies 
what  come." 

"/only,  then,  am  excluded,"  thought  he,  and  but  for 
the  errand  on  which  he  came,  he  would  have  immediate 
ly  departed. 

Not  choosing  to  trust  the  accuracy  of  Phyllis  with  a 
verbal  message,  he  wrote  on  a  card,  "My  visit  is  one  of 
necessity ;  be  so  good  as  to  see  me  for  a  few  moments;" 
and,  committing  this  to  her,  waited  in  no  very  patient 
mood  an  answer. 

In  a  moment  she  returned,  and  was  leading  him  to 
the  parlor ;  but,  hearing  voices,  and  his  interview  requir 
ing  to  be  private,  he  entered  the  open  door  of  the  study, 
saying  he  would  await  her  mistress  there. 


468  WALTER  THOKNXEY;  OR, 

Eleanor,  scarce  conscious  of  the  words  that  had  es 
caped  her,  and  little  imagining  them  to  be  reported  to 
"Walter,  saw  only  in  the  line  addressed  to  her  the  same 
pertinacious  avoidance  of  any  personal  attention.  Dis 
pleasure  at  this  lack  of  common  courtesy  overcame  oth 
er  feelings,  and  she  felt  at  once  quite  strong  enough  to 
meet  him. 

She  descended,  and,  at  the  foot  of  the  stairs,  met 
Phyllis  with  an  apology,  "De  gen'elman  would  go  in 
de  wrong  room,"  pointing  to  the  study;  "no  fault  of 
mine,  missis." 

"Kather  any  where  else,"  thought  Eleanor;  "but  if 
he  can  bear  it  so  will  I."  And  she  entered,  so  calm 
and  cold  that,  but  for  the  traces  of  recent  tears,  she 
might  have  seemed  incapable  of  feeling. 

Under  this  exterior,  however,  Walter,  though  mis 
taking  the  cause,  saw  and  felt  the  sorrow,  and  the  mo 
mentary  pique  was  gone.  Approaching  her  with  a  soft 
ened  though  still  a  constrained  manner,  he  extended  his 
hand ;  hers  trembled,  but  she  permitted  him  to  lead  her 
to  a  chair,  and  he  took  one  by  her  side. 

"  Forgive  me,"  said  he,  "  if  I  appear  importunate.  I 
would  not  obtrude  myself  on  you,  but  that  a  sacred  duty 
requires  it." 

Eleanor  looked  in  silence  and  surprise,  inwardly  re 
peating,  "Importunate!  obtrude!  What  language  to 
me!" 

"And,  now  that  I  am  permitted  to  see  and  speak  to 
you,  I  scarcely  know  how  to  introduce  a  subject  so  pain 
ful  to  us  both.  Strange  that  we  should  feel  such  reluct 
ance  to  name  those  most  dear  to  us,  when  death  has 
come  between  us !" 

No  word  from  Eleanor  smoothed  the  way,  and  he 
continued,  after  a  pause,  in  which  his  troubled  look 
only  added  to  her  perplexity. 


A  PEEP  AT  THE  PAST.  469 

"  Oscar,"  at  length  he  said,  "  may  I  not  say  our  Os 
car  ?"  and  again  he  paused,  with  a  fixed,  inquiring  glance, 
till,  feeling  herself  called  on  to  reply,  she  said,  in  a  sad 
but  quiet  voice,  "  Certainly ;  why  should  you  doubt  it?" 

Her  calmness  reassured  him ;  and,  taking  Oscar's  let 
ter  from  his  pocket,  he  read  that  portion  which  related 
to  herself. 

She  listened  without  a  word ;  but  the  varying  expres 
sion  of  her  truthful  face,  in  which  astonishment,  pain, 
and  wounded  delicacy  were  reflected,  was  more  eloquent 
than  words. 

"  This  can  not  be  new  to  you,"  said  Walter,  in  his 
turn  surprised  and  perplexed.  "  Your  own  feelings  must 
have  prepared  you,  in  some  degree,  for  a  communication 
so  natural  under  the  circumstances.  Perhaps  there  may 
be  somewhat  left  unsaid  at  a  moment  of  great  bodily 
weakness — allow  me  to  be  more  explicit."  And  he  pro 
ceeded  to  explain  the  silence  of  Oscar ;  to  enlarge  on 
the  love  that  had  rendered  it  so  difficult ;  the  honor 
that  could  alone  have  enabled  him  to  maintain  it.  He 
would  have  said  even  more,  but  Eleanor,  having  recov 
ered  from  the  first  effect  of  a  revelation  so  little  expect 
ed,  interrupted  him. 

"  You  have  discharged  your  trust.  That  is  enough,  so 
far  as  you  are  concerned.  For  myself  I  must  be  allow 
ed  a  few  words.  I  can  not  tell  to  what  extent  you  may 
impute  inconsistency  to  me,  but  my  own  conscience  ac 
quits  me.  I  have  never  felt,  nor  intentionally  manifest 
ed,  any  thing  for  your  friend  that  a  sister  might  not  feel 
for  a  brother,  whose  peculiarly  delicate  nature  called 
for  more  than  common  sympathy.  My  first  feeling  at 
this  communication,  I  will  own,  was  displeasure  at  being 
thus  mistaken  and  addressed — but  it  is  passed.  If  the 
delusion  were  a  happy  one  to  him — whose  fate  I  truly 
lament — I  do  not  complain.  To  him  it  matters  not  now 


470  WALTER  THORNLEY;  OR, 

— and  as  little  to  me ;  for,  if  the  living  condemn  me,  my 
own  heart  does  not." 

Walter  did  not  attempt  a  reply.  Never  had  he  more 
deeply  felt  her  truth,  dignity,  and  generosity ;  but  the 
sentiment  could  find  no  expression.  No  longer  restrain 
ed  by  consideration  for  another' — friendship  and  love  no 
longer  in  conflict — the  charge  of  fickleness  and  levity 
which  his  heart  had  secretly  brought  against  her  now 
withdrawn — the  hope  of  earlier  days  would  not  be  de 
nied.  Yet  the  uninviting  manner  of  Eleanor  repressed 
all  utterance.  He  tried  to  speak,  but  his  words  were 
indistinct.  And  she,  little  propitiated  by  his  earnest  rep 
resentation  of  the  love  of  another,  rose,  and  said,  coldly, 
"From  the  short  conference  you  requested,  your  time 
must  be  much  occupied ;  pray,  do  not  let  me  longer  de 
tain  you." 

All  the  pride  of  Walter  would,  at  any  other  time,  have 
risen  at  this  speech ;  but  now,  gentler  feelings  were  in 
the  ascendant. 

With  increasing  agitation,  and  in  a  voice  tremulous 
with  emotion,  while  his  eye  sought  the  depths  of  hers, 
he  exclaimed,  "You  must  not  leave  me  thus — misap 
prehension  shall  not  part  us !  Dearest  Eleanor,  may  I, 
dare  I  open  to  you  a  heart  that  has  never  ceased  to  be 
yours?" 

Pride,  wounded  affection,  displeasure,  at  these  few 
words,  fled  as  by  magic.  She  started,  the  blood  rushed 
to  her  cheek ;  a  doubtful  look  for  a  moment  seemed  to 
repel  him ;  she  half-resisted  the  movement  that  sought 
again  to  reseat  her ;  a  word  of  rebuke  was  ready  to  fall 
from  her  lips ;  but  they  melted  into  a  smile  that  gave 
the  permission  he  asked. 

As  he  proceeded,  however,  it  was  apparent  to  her  up 
right  mind  that  he  was  transgressing  the  limit  they 
ought  to  observe,  and,  rising  hastily,  she  said,  "I  can 


A   PEEP  AT  THE   PAST.  471 

hear  no  more.  I  did,  indeed,  desire  to  be  assured  of 
your  friendship.  You  have  satisfied  me ;  I  shall  never 
again  distrust  it.  Let  us  part  for  the  present;  it  is  best." 

Walter,  it  is  hoped,  will  be  forgiven,  if  he,  after  the 
manner  of  men,  seeking  to  be  loved  for  his  own  sake, 
maintained,  even  at  this  moment,  his  incognito. 

"Eleanor,"  said  he,  "you  once  believed  in  me,  when 
honor  compelled  me  to  be  silent ;  believe  me  now,  when 
I  dare  to  speak.  Your  parents,  as  I  know  from  their 
own  declaration,  desire  chiefly  your  happiness;  and,  if 
assured  that  I  shall  bring  you  neither  poverty  nor  dis 
grace,  they  will  not  reject  me.  My  present  condition  war 
rants  this  assertion.  Others  might  offer  you  a  more  dis 
tinguished  position,  and  'wealth  beyond  the  dream  of 
avarice ;'  but,  if  love  is  better  than  riches  and  honor, 
where  is  the  treasure  larger  than  that  which  my  heart 
has  *  garnered  up'  for  you  ?  Will  you  cast  it  from  you  ?" 

Her  beaming  eyes,  full  of  things  unutterable,  answer 
ed  for  her.  Her  extended  hand  grasped  in  his,  pressed 
to  his  lips  and  heart,  sealed  the  compact,  while  a  sweet, 
low  voice  was  heard  to  say,  "  Your  love,  and  the  sanc 
tion  of  my  parents,  is  all  I  ask." 

Ah !  Walter,  did  not  your  conscience  smite  you  that 
you  had  dared  to  apply  a  touch-stone  to  that  true  young 
heart?  Or,  rather,  did  not  a  thrill  of  joy,  exquisite,  if 
selfish,  acknowledge  this  frank  avowal  that  you,  with 
out  fortune  or  distinction,  unknown  and  obscure,  that 
you,  simply  Walter  Thornley,  were  the  "  star  of  her  des 
tiny?" 

What  followed  in  that  tete-a-tete,  or,  to  use  the  more 
beautiful  expression  of  the  Italians,  quattfocchi,  may  be 
easily  divined — the  same  review  of  the  past,  the  same 
tracing  to  its  first  spring  in  their  hearts  of  that  stream 
which  "  never  did  run  smooth,"  the  same  lingering  on 
moments  of  bliss,  the  same  explanations  of  doubts  and 


472  WALTER  THOENLEY;  OK, 

fears,  of  circumstances  so  incomprehensible  at  the  time, 
yet  so  easily  understood  in  the  light  of  out-spoken  af 
fection  ;  those  little  mysteries  which  serve  to  draw  still 
closer  the  meshes  of  love — all,  in  short,  that  so  many 
have  felt,  and  which,  therefore,  need  not  be  told. 

At  length  they  parted,  with  many  delays,  and  much 
"  sweet  sorrow." 

Phyllis,  ever  on  the  alert  when  her  young  mistress 
was  concerned,  had  taken  up  her  position  in  the  hall,  in 
order  to  open  the  door  to  the  "  gen'elman,"  whose  visit, 
judging  from  his  reception,  she  decided  would  not  be 
very  long.  It  was  so  protracted,  however,  that  curiosi 
ty,  more  than  propriety,  held  her  to  her  post;  nor  did 
she  fail  to  make  her  own  inferences.  "Well,"  thought 
she,  as  she  finally  closed  the  door  after  him,  "  dey  don't 
look,  comin'  out  dat  ar'  room,  as  dey  did  'gwine  in,  dat's 
for  sart'in." 


A  PEEP  AT  THE   PAST.  473 


CHAPTEK  XLVI. 

As  Eleanor  retired  to  lier  room  at  night,  Phyllis  pre 
sented  herself,  with  a  large  packet,  brought,  as  she  said, 
by  Mr.  Middleton's  "sarvent,  and  on'y  for  young  missis' 
own  hands." 

Her  happiness  too  great  for  any  addition,  Eleanor's 
first  sensation  was  alarm,  and  she  received  it  with  some 
trepidation.  A  letter  from  Walter  relieved  her.  It  in 
closed  one  from  Mr.  Middleton  to  himself,  which  ran  as 
follows: 

"MY  DEAR  WALTER, — I  thank  you  for  the  confi 
dence  reposed  in  me,  frank  and  manly  as  yourself. 
Nothing  could,  at  this  moment,  give  me  such  satisfaction 
as  the  information  in  regard  to  Miss  Meredith. 

"You  urge,  in  so  far  as  she  and  her  family  are  concern 
ed,  the  necessity  of  departing  from  the  reserve  you  had 
proposed.  This  is  obvious.  And  I  must,  in  justice  to 
myself,  say  that  I  had  already  determined  not  to  avail 
myself  of  your  delicate  consideration,  though,  at  the  mo 
ment  of  its  suggestion,  I  was  too  much  touched  to  dis 
cuss,  or  to  resist  it.  I  prefer  that  the  truth  be  known  at 
once.  When  the  lives  and  happiness  of  those  dearest 
to  me  were  at  stake,  I  was  a  coward.  Alone,  I  can  bear 
all  that  I  deserve.  The  contumely  of  the  world,  much 
as  at  one  time  it  would  have  stung  me,  will  now  fall 
on  a  heart  so  wrung  with  sorrow,  so  penetrated  by  re 
morse,  as  to  be  nearly  insensible  to  what  man  can  say. 
Make  what  use  you  please  of  my  written  communication 
to  you.  G.  C." 


474  WALTER  THORNLEY;  OR, 

"With  this  preface  Eleanor  opened  the  packet — the 
"  communication"  alluded  to — of  which  "Walter's  letter 
authorized  the  perusal. 

With  what  feelings  it  was  read — with  what  mingled 
indignation  and  compassion  on  the  one  hand,  and  rejoic 
ing,  free  from  all  selfish  considerations,  on  the  other,  may 
be  imagined. 

An  early  hour  the  next  morning  brought  Walter, 
who,  after  an  interview  with  Mr.  Grafton,  was  introduced 
by  him  to  Mr.  and  Mrs.  Meredith  as  bearing  a  name, 
having  a  position,  and,  moreover,  preferring  a  suit,  which 
altogether  astonished  them.  The  courtesy  with  which 
he  was  heard  and  accepted  can  not  be  doubted.  Yet  it 
is  but  justice  to  say  that  the  estimate  they  had  formed 
of  him,  under  circumstances  so  different,  entered  largely 
into  the  feeling  with  which  their  assent  was  accorded. 

Mr.  Grafton,  of  course,  was  delighted ;  his  wife  scarce 
ly  less  so ;  it  only  remained  to  be  assured  of  the  appro 
bation  of  Mr.  Lawrence,  and  Mrs.  Meredith  forthwith 
asked  admittance  to  his  room. 

She  found  him  in  a  favorable  mood.  He  listened 
with  complacency  to  the  picture  she  drew  of  youthful 
love,  honorable  forbearance,  constancy,  etc. ;  but  when 
she  proceeded  to  the  strange  turn  of  fortune  by  which 
they  had  met  their  reward,  enlarging  on  the  wealth  and 
social  position  that  had  so  unexpectedly  been  disclosed, 
and  then  to  the  startling  facts  connected  therewith,  ac 
companied  by  ill-advised  though  well-intended  exple 
tives,  of  "poor  Mr.  Middleton !"  his  "trials,"  "unfortu 
nate  temptations,"  "peculiar  circumstances,"  etc.,  Mr. 
Lawrence's  countenance  darkened. 

Striking  his  cane  violently  on  the  ground,  he  exclaim 
ed,  "Janet,  I'm  ashamed  of  you!  You  have  a  right  to 
marry  your  daughter  as  you  please,  and,  should  I  ap 
prove  or  not,  of  course  you'll  do  so.  I  love  the  girl, 


A  PEEP  AT  THE   PAST.  475 

and  shall  love  her,  let  her  marry  whom  she  may.  I've 
had  enough  of  crossing  hearts.  If  you  had  given  her  to 
young  Thornley,  as  you  called  him,  an  obscure  country 
lad,  however  surprised,  I  should  have  said  nothing ;  nay, 
shouldn't  have  been  as  much  surprised  as  you  may 
think.  I  liked  him  from  the  first ;  he  is  a  manly,  hand 
some  fellow ;  has  so  much  the  air  of  a  gentleman  that  I 
wondered  where  the  devil  he  got  it  from !  But  don't 
come  pow-wowing  over  me  about  his  father.  He  is  a 
rascal — an  infernal  rascal !" 

"Dear,  dear  papa,"  interposed  Mrs.  Meredith. 

"I  tell  you  he  is,  and  you  ought  to  be  ashamed  to 
have  any  mercy  on  such  a  fellow  I  What !  desert  his 
wife  and  child !  impose  on  a  very  angel,  as  you  call  her, 
by  a  false  marriage !  carry  her  off  from  her  friends !  and 
then  you  to  pity  him !  to  contrive  excuses  for  him !  nay, 
even  rejoice  in  a  connection  with  him !  I  tell  you,  Ja 
net,  a  woman's  feeling  ought  to  teach  you  better.  Let 
Eleanor  marry  his  son ;  he  has  not  had  the  bringing  of 
him  up,  and  therefore  he  may  deserve  her ;  but  don't 
expect  me  to  be  proud  of  such  a  marriage  if  his  pedigree 
counted  back  to  Japhet,  and  he  could  cover  the  State 
of  New  York  with  gold  pieces!  No,  nor  to  clap  palms 
with  him,  and  to  insult  truth  and  honor  by  a  pretended 
cordiality  with  such  a  man !  Let  him  keep  out  of  my 
way — that's  best  for  both  of  us." 

Mrs.  Middleton  was  so  taken  aback  that  she  could 
frame  no  reply ;  and  while  she  hesitated,  her  father  con 
tinued  : 

"I  tell  you,  Janet,  you  women  have  much  to  answer 
for.  There  would  be  fewer  broken  hearts  if  you  frown 
ed  such  villains  down.  All  laws,  civil  and  religious, 
can  not  do  as  much  for  your  sex  as  you  can  do  for  your 
selves." 

His  daughter,  in  despair  of  a  more  patient  hearing,  re- 


476  WALTER  THORNLEY;  OR, 

tired  to  seek  Eleanor.  "  Mr.  Middleton  was  that  day  to 
be  introduced  to  his  future  daughter-in-law,  and  to  such 
of  her  family  as  he  had  not  yet  seen.  The  absence  of 
Mr.  Lawrence  at  such  a  time  could  not  fail  to  be  re 
marked.  What  was  to  be  done  ?" 

"I  will  speak  to  him,"  said  Eleanor ;  and,  with  a  fear 
less  step,  she  ventured  where  no  one  else  would  have 
gone  just  at  that  moment. 

On  entering  she  threw  her  arm  round  his  neck,  and 
then,  sinking  on  her  knee  before  him,  said,  in  a  low,  rev 
erential  voice,  "Your  blessing,  dear  grandpapa!" 

Kaising  her  up,  and  pressing  her  to  him,  she  caught  a 
few  words,  partly  in  his  mother  tongue,  always  to  him 
the  most  tender ;  and  kindsdogter  !  het  vaderlik  dak  !  told 
how  affectionately  he  commended  to  Heaven  his  "  grand 
daughter,"  the  joy  of  "  the  paternal  roof." 

"You  will  forgive  me  now,  dear  grandpapa — won't 
you — for  crossing  your  wishes?  You  see  I  couldn't 
help  it,"  she  added,  with  a  deprecating  smile. 

"  No,  no,  my  lammetje  (little  lamb),  you  could  not,  to 
be  sure.  I  have  long  forgiven  all  that,  and  love  you 
better  than  ever." 

"And  won't  you  love  Walter,  too,  a  little,  by  de 
grees  ?" 

"  To  be  sure — to  be  sure ;  I  do  already,  but  don't  ask 
me  to  like  his  father,  Nelly." 

"  I  shall  not,  sir.  With  your  character  you  can  take 
but  one  view  of  his  conduct.  But  you  know,  grand 
papa,  that  from  my  relation  to  him  it  will  be  my  duty 
to  suppress  feelings  that  would  be  painful  to  his  son; 
and  even  to  try,  by  obtaining  some  hold  on  his  affec 
tions,  to  influence  him  favorably.  You  know,  dear 
grandpapa,  the  mercy  we  hope  for  we  must  practice." 

"  Yes,  yes ;  I  can  not  deny  that ;  and  if  any  body  can 
make  him  a  better  man,  'tis  you,  Leentje ;  and  Gertrude, 


A  PEEP   AT  THE  PA3T.  477 

I  suppose  she,  of  course,  will  think,  the  greater  the  sin 
ner,  the  louder  the  call  to  give  him  a  lift.  But  don't,  I 
command  you,  disgrace  yourselves  and  dishonor  virtue 
by  pitying  and  cosseting  such  a  fellow !  Tell  him  plain, 
wholesome  truths.  If  he's  worth  saving,  that'll  do  him 
most  good.  Such  a  patient  as  that  must  not  be  fed  upon 
sugar-plums,  nor  handled  with  gloves.  He  requires 
thorough  treatment.  If  there's  any  reaction  in  the  sys 
tem,  it  will  bear  it ;  and  if  not,  let  him  die  and  be — " 

Eleanor  cut  short  the  forthcoming  malediction  by  say 
ing,  "  You  remember  Captain  Talbot,  sir?" 

"  To  be  sure  I  do — the  puppy !  But  they  tell  me  he's 
dead,  so  I  shall  not  waste  breath  on  him." 

"  He  was  a  great  deal  more  wicked  than  you  supposed, 
sir.  I  have  a  sketch  of  him  here — a  curious  specimen 
of  human  nature !  May  I  read  it  to  you  ?  He  and  Mr. 
Middleton  were  relatives." 

"I  dare  say;  a  brace  of  rascals!  A  pleasant  family 
to  marry  you  into  1"  growled  the  old  gentleman,  in  great 
disgust.  "  But  read  on ;  let's  have  it." 

Eleanor  obeyed.  A  change  of  feeling  was  soon  ap 
parent  in  Mr.  Lawrence's  countenance.  Contempt  was 
overpowered  by  indignation,  but  mingled,  nevertheless, 
with  interest;  while  his  contracting  brow,  his  heightened 
color,  his  cane — the  unerring  exponent  of  his  emotions 
— expressed  the  effect  of  the  narrative.  Occasionally  an 
interjection  or  an  anathema  broke  from  him.  He  would 
rise  from  his  chair  and  instantly  reseat  himself,  as  if 
bodily  motion  were  necessary  to  relieve  the  intense  wrath 
that  boiled  within.  The  vices  of  Talbot  were  just  those 
most  abhorrent  to  him.  The  conduct  of  Mr.  Middleton 
lost  its  pre-eminence  in  evil.  A  new  emotion  succeed 
ed.  He  was  more  weak  than  wicked — himself  a  victim 
as  well  as  a  destroyer.  Some  compassionate  throbs  were 
felt.  Then,  as  the  tale,  darkened  by  death  and  sorrow, 


478  WALTER  THORNLEY;  OR, 

drew  to  a  conclusion — when  remorse  and  self-abasement 
alone  were  expressed,  with  no  vain  attempt  at  excuse  or 
justification — he  could  stand  it  no  longer. 

Throwing  himself  back  in  his  chair,  he  exclaimed, 
"  Oh,  good  Lord,  what  poor  creatures  we  are !  Lead  us 
not  into  temptation,  for  who  can  stand  ?  There,  there, 
child !  go  away.  I  have  need  to  thank  Heaven,  on  my 
knees,  that  I  have  not  been  left  to  myself.  Lie  and 
cheat,  I  never  could ;  they  were*not  my  besetting  sins. 
But  my  anger  has  been  fierce,  and  my  wrath  has  been 
cruel,  and  injustice  and  suffering  have  clung  to  my 
skirts.  With  such  passions,  what  might  I  not  have  been 
left  to  do  ?  If  a  saving  hand  has  been  held  out  to  me, 
should  I  not  do  the  like  to  another?  Show  mercy,  ye 
that  hope  to  be  forgiven !  Go.  go,  child !  leave  me  a 
while  to  myself." 

Eleanor  kissed  his  hand  and  withdrew  in  silence. 

"When  Mr.  Middleton  called,  Mr.  Lawrence,  unasked, 
requested  an  introduction  to  him. 


A  PEEP  AT  THE   PAST.  479 


CHAPTER  XLVIL 

THE  visit  to  England  was  imperative — not  more  urged 
by  Mrs.  Cecil  than  desired  by  Walter  himself.  The  im 
age  of  his  mother  impressed  on  his  infancy  had  never 
been  effaced ;  and  he  earnestly  wished  to  testify  his  rev 
erence  for  her,  and  to  make  such  arrangements  for  the 
future  as  should  satisfy  the  various  claims  now  to  be 
considered.  But  to  tear  himself  from  Eleanor,  at  the 
very  moment  she  had  given  herself  to  him,  was  more 
than  he  could  bear. 

An  immediate  marriage  was  the  only  way  to  recon 
cile  these  conflicting  interests.  Accordingly,  on  one  of 
the  finest  of  October  mornings,  at  about  eleven  o'clock, 
carriages  were  observed  to  stop  in  Broadway,  in  front  of 
Trinity  Church.  As  all  notice  had  been  guarded  against, 
there  was  little  danger  of  intrusion ;  and  if  any  curious 
loungers  did  follow  those  who  alighted  and  passed  with 
in,  their  presence  was  unobserved.  If  such  there  were, 
they  would  have  seen,  fronting  the  officiating  clergyman, 
a  youthful  pair  with  tender  and  reverent  mien ;  a  gen 
tleman  in  mourning  garments,  not  so  sad  as  his  pale 
face;  happy  parents,  though  giving  away  their  daugh 
ter  ;  friends  scarce  less  loving  than  parents ;  and,  as  the 
head  and  crowning  honor  of  the  group,  an  old  gentle 
man  in  the  elaborate  costume  of  a  by-gone  time,  but 
whose  hale,  handsome  face  gave  no  indication  of  infirm 
ity  ;  his  hands  crossed  on  his  gold-headed  cane,  his  fig 
ure  slightly  inclining,  his  eyes  occasionally  cast  upward, 
as  if  in  prayer  and  benediction.  The  service  was  soon 
over ;  the  party  left  the  church  and  re-entered  their  car- 


480  WALTER  THOKNLEY;  OK, 

riages.  Walter  and  Eleanor  Cecil  were  one  and  indi 
visible. 

Those  were  not  the  days  of  bridal  tours — a  fashion 
originating  in  a  foreign  country,  in  a  class  by  which  es 
cape  from  conventionality  was  felt  as  a  privilege — glad 
to  find  in  elegant  retirement,  or  some  rustic  retreat,  free 
dom  to  be  natural  and  happy.  Such  fashion  had  not 
then  been  imported  and  caricatured  here,  where  it  was 
not  wanted.  Those  who  might  be  as  private  and  undis 
turbed  as  they  pleased  at  home,  did  not  then  rush  to 
steam-boats,  rail-roads,  and  public  places;  and  delicate 
young  women  did  not  run  away  from  the  "sheltering 
grove  of  their  own  kindred,"  to  make  themselves  a  mark 
for  impertinence  and  curiosity.  The  hymeneal  torch 
was  not  then  extinguished  as  soon  as  lighted,  but  people 
staid  at  home  and  kept  it  burning. 

There  were,  to  be  sure,  customs  and  ceremonies  some 
times  rather  tiresome,  and  a  routine  that  wealth  and  sta 
tion  were  expected  to  observe.  In  some  places,  among 
those  of  Dutch  descent,  on  the  wedding-night,  the  doors 
of  the  house  were  besieged  by  a  mob  of  children,  who  ex 
pected  that  their  good  wishes  for  the  vrolijk  bruid  (merry 
bride)  should  be  responded  to  in  a  shower  of  cakes,  which 
she,  in  a  Dutch  doggerel,  was  requested  to  "  throw  out." 
Beversing  the  present  order,  the  wedding  gifts,  few  and 
simple,  were  conferred  by  the  bride  on  her  special  attend 
ants.  There  was  no  bridal  table  spread  with  costly  offer- 
ings,  requiring  the  presence  of  a  police-officer  to  guard  it ; 
and,  above  all,  there  were  no  articles,  hired  for  the  occasion, 
inscribed  as  the  gifts  of  "  affectionate  friends,"  but  design 
ed  only  to  swell  the  glittering  bubble  of  the  moment, 
and  then  to  be  returned  to  the  shops  and  show-cases 
whence  they  had  been  taken  pro  tern,  For  three  morn 
ings  or  more,  the  happy  bridegroom,  in  exchange  for 
the  congratulations  of  his  friends,  gave  wine  and  punch ; 


A  PEEP  AT  THE  PAST.  461 

and,  for  as  many  evenings,  the  bride,  supported  by  her 
nymphs,  received  a  succession  of  admiring  guests.  But 
in  all  this  there  was  enough  that  was  hearty  and  person 
al  to  compensate  for  a  little  effort. 

In  the  case  of  our  young  friends,  these  usages  were, 
for  obvious  reasons,  dispensed  with,  much,  however,  to 
the  regret  of  the  old  gentleman. 

The  counsel,  "  whenever  you  have  nothing  to  say,  say 
nothing,"  is  never  more  worthy  of  observance  than  in 
the  winding  up  of  a  story,  which,  perhaps,  to  some,  may 
have  little  worth  the  telling.  The  reader,  if  such  there 
be,  shall  not  much  longer  be  detained. 

A  week  has  elapsed  since  the  Church  bestowed  its 
sanction.  A  gallant  ship  is  spreading  her  sails;  the  wind 
is  fair,  farewells  are  exchanged,  and  Mr.  and  Mrs.  Cecil, 
from  the  deck  of  the  "  Lovely  Nan,"  are  making  parting 
signals  to  those  on  shore,  who  linger  to  catch  the  last 
wave  of  his  hat,  and  the  last  flutter  of  her  scarf.  And 
now,  if  any  one  would  know  in  what  their  friends  found 
consolation,  it  will  appear  in  the  following  letter  from 
Mrs.  Grafton : 

"Rosenberg,  January  10,  18 — . 

"DEAREST  ELEANOR, — Your  letter,  just  received,  an 
nouncing  your  safe  arrival,  excited  feelings  you  can  well 
understand.  "We  had  been  cautioned  not  to  expect  ti 
dings  under  three  months ;  you  may  imagine,  therefore, 
how  welcome  they  were,  a  week  earlier  than  the  time 
prescribed. 

"Your  touching  account  of  your  reception  and  of 
your  admirable  new  mother  delights  us.  But,  amid  all 
the  love  lavished  on  you  and  the  novelties  that  meet 
>you,  I  see  that  you  sigh  for  accounts  of  home,  which  I 
hasten,  therefore,  to  give.  I  have  written  once — a  dol 
orous  letter ;  how  could  it  be  otherwise,  with  our  hearts 

X 


482  WALTER  THORNLEY;    OK, 

thrown  into  shadow  by  the  withdrawal  of  our  sun  ?  In 
that  I  informed  you  of  our  return  here. 

"  I  do  not  know  what  papa  would  have  done  after  all 
our  recent  excitement,  had  it  not  been  that  another  wed 
ding  was  to  be  cared  for.  Accordingly,  preparations 
were  immediately  made,  and  on  the  largest  scale,  for  that 
of  dear  Phil  and  Priscilla.  '  This  time,'  he  said,  '  he 
was  resolved  to  have  it  in  his  own  way ;  he  would  have 
no  more  "  hugger-mugger"  marriages;  nothing  done  in  a 
corner,  as  if  people  were  ashamed  of  it.'  Not  only  all 
the  neighboring  gentry  were  invited,  but  every  one  who, 
as  friends  of  the  bride  or  her  family,  could  expect  or  de 
sire  to  be  included.  Dear  papa !  he  was,  as  usual,  trans 
parent;  his  humility  a  pretty  sure  gauge  of  his  pride,  im 
plying,  plainer  than  by  words,  *  Let  no  man  dare  to  say 
I  am  not  satisfied.' 

"  Of  course,  you  know,  the  service  had  to  be  perform 
ed  by  our  dominie,  a  prelude  to  Priscilla  being  'cut  off 
from  her  people.'  But  for  this  she  was  prepared ;  and, 
having  been  only  *  born  in  the  meeting,'  as  they  say, 
there  was  no  sacrifice  of  principle.  She  begged,  how 
ever,  to  retain  her  dress,  and  in  this  Phil  concurred. 
1  He  should  not,'  as  he  said,  '  know  her  as  his  own,  if  she 
were  attired  as  one  of  the  world's  people;  besides,  it  be* 
came  her  better  than  any  other.'  How  they  may  settle 
it  hereafter  I  can  not  say,  but  at  present  she  retains 
'dress  and  address;'  and,  for  my  own  part,  I  like  both. 
They  are  so  in  keeping  with  her  character  I  should  re 
gret  to  see  them  renounced.  But  papa  was  resolved 
that  she  should  be  as  well  arrayed  as  could  be  made  to 
comport  with  her  style ;  so  your  mother  was  directed  by 
him  to  send  the  prettiest  Quaker  dress  that  could  be  de 
vised,  and,  certainly,  Priscilla  did  look  lovely  in  it ! 

"  I  was,  however,  more  concerned  for  herself  than  her 
dress,  fearing  lest  a  circle  more  numerous  and  distin- 


A  PEEP  AT  THE   PAST.  483 

guished  than  she  was  ever  before  in,  should  overpower 
her.  I  might  have  spared  my  anxiety.  It  was  curious 
to  see  how  extremes  meet.  How  the  renunciation  of 
1  man- worship,'  and  all  the  vanities  of  life,  produced  the 
effect  at  which  artificial  training  aims — for  no  high-bred 
lady  could  have  been  more  calm.  Her  pale  cheek,  and 
an  occasional  tremor  of  her  lip,  betrayed  the  emotion 
natural  to  the  occasion,  but  there  was  no  disturbing 
sense  of  inferiority. 

"  The  prettiest  thing,  however,  I  have  not  told  you. 
The  day  before  the  wedding  we  were  sent  for  into  papa's 
room,  where  it  appeared  that  Priscilla  had  been  desired 
to  meet  us.  Addressing  himself  to  her,  he  said,  '  You 
may  remember,  my  child,  I  once  promised  you  a  mar 
riage  portion,  provided  you  conformed  to  the  condition 
I  proposed.  Do  you  recollect  it?' 

"  '  I  do,7  she  replied. 

"  'If  I  have  substituted  other  conditions,'  he  contin 
ued,  with  a  smile,  '  I  am  virtually  bound  by  the  same 
promise,  if  you  accept  them.  Here  is  the  fulfillment.' 

"  It  was  a  deed  of  the  Mill  Farm  to  her  and  her  heirs 
forever !  Now,  was  not  this  like  papa  ?  It  was  remov 
ing  her  parents  from  a  condition  of  more  or  less  depend 
ence  on  him,  and  placing  their  comfort  and  happiness  in 
her  hands.  But  this  was  not  the  end. 

"  Her  heart  seemed  too  full  for  speech,  but,  when  able 
to  reply,  she  said,  ;  This  may  not  be.' 

"  *  Why  not,  you  foolish  girl?'  said  he,  impatiently; 
1  why  not  ?' 

"'For  the  reason  that  it  is  taking  thy  inheritance 
from  thine  own  blood  to  give  it  to  strangers.  Nay,  hear 
me.  I  may  prove  faithless  or  weak,  and  bestow  it  on 
my  kindred,  which  is  not  thy  intention.  Put  not  tempt 
ation  in  my  way.  And,  furthermore,  it  hath  a  show 
of  distrust  of  thy  grandson's  good-will  to  my  parents, 


484:  WALTER  THORNLEY;  OR, 

which  I  know  of  a  certainty  will  never  fail  Give  it, 
therefore,  to  him,  as  is  fitting,'  and,  with  an  appealing 
look,  she  turned  to  us. 

"I  trembled  for  her,  knowing  how  much  it  displeases 
papa  to  have  his  generosity  thrown  back  on  his  hands. 
But  her  plain  truth  always  finds  an  entrance  into  his 
heart ;  and,  when  Mr.  Grafton  said,  '  I  think,  sir,  Pris- 
cilla  is  right,'  he  only  laid  his  hand  caressingly  on  her 
head,  and  replied,  '  "Well,  well,  be  it  so.'  So  thus  runs 
the  deed. 

"Another  thing,  which,  though  small,  will  interest  you. 
I  had  felt  a  little  apprehensive  lest  the  proper  feeling 
should  not  be  manifested  on  the  part  of  the  servants. 
But  as  in  the  Shandy  family  'nothing  ever  seemed  to 
work  in  the  ordinary  way,'  so  it  proves  wherever  Pris- 
cilla  is  concerned.  Instead  of  betraying  any  thing  of 
the  negro  preference  for  the  '  quality,'  they  were  all  true 
to  Philip — Aunt  Flore,  of  course,  giving  the  key-note. 

"  '  Massa  Phil,'  she  said,  '  a  rale  gen'elman !  Didn't 
bring  no  strange  lady  to  be  missus  ober  dem,  but  one 
mose  like  one  ob  de  fam'ly;  grow'd  up  dere;  teached 
by  Miss  Gitty,  wid  all  her  ways.' 

How  much  her  tendency  to  the  rising  sun  had  to  do 
with  this,  I  do  not  care  to  inquire ;  but,  I  doubt  not,  much 
more  her  real  affection.  To  this  Pomp  replied  with  a 
wave  of  his  hand  and  an  air  of  superior  information. 

"  '  Ezacly  so,  Aunt  Flore ;  an'  I  would  furder  obsarve 
on  dis  'markable  'casion,  as  de  dominie  says — fusly,  for 
de  sake  ob  myse'f,  and,  secon'ly,  for  de  sake  ob  yelly, 
dat  my  own  'pinion  is,  dat  Quakers  is  allers  friends  to 
de  colored  people.' 

"  Our  own  affairs  are  advancing  to  a  satisfactory  con 
clusion.  Our  nice  little  cottage  will  be  completed  by 
your  return.  You  remember  the  pretty  shaded  walk  at 
the  bottom  of  the  garden  at  Eosenberg :  through  that 


A   PEEP   AT  THE   PAST.  485 

we  shall  communicate  with  the  old  mansion.  On  the 
farther  side  papa  has  given  us  ground  enough  to  carry 
out  all  our  small  purposes  of  arbor  and  horticulture. 
The  '  little  gray  hermitage,'  as  Mr.  Grafton  calls  it,  that 
sheltered  him  and  Walter  so  many  years,  and  to  which 
both  are  much  attached,  is  to  be  loaned  rent-free  to  the 
joint  occupancy  of  their  friends  Damie  and  Jed,  who 
are  to  set  up  housekeeping  together,  but  on  the  platonic 
platform.  At  first,  I  understand  that  she  objected  to 
the  copartnership,  on  the  ground  that <  folks  would  talk;' 
but  Mr.  Grafton  quieted  her  scruples  by  reminding  her 
that  '  she  and  he  had  lived  much  on  the  same  terms  for 
a  long  while,  and  that  he  had  never  heard  that  the  rep 
utation  of  either  had  suffered.'  All  that  is  required  of 
them  is  to  keep  the  place  in  decent  order,  which,  as. 
ideas  differ  on  this  point,  I  see  will  never  be  done  with 
out  douceurs  from  the  gentlemen,  and  occasional  visits 
from  you  and  me. 

"Your  parents  are  well  and  cheerful.  Mr.  Grafton 
has  just  returned  from  a  visit  to  Mr.  Middleton,  whom 
he  found  more  calm  than  he  expected.  Wilson  said  he 
was  greatly  altered — no  more  -of  those  dreadful  parox 
ysms — kind  and  patient ;  but,  though  very  quiet,  always 
sad.  He  sees  no  one;  goes  nowhere  but  to  your  fa 
ther's;  and  Wilson,  with  the  superstition  of  his  class,  con 
fidentially  intimated  that  the  change  portended  a  great 
er  one.  But  the  explanation  is  easy.  The  blow  so  long 
impending  has  fallen.  There  is  nothing  more  to  fear 
nor  to  conceal — the  heavy  burden  of  untruth  is  removed. 
But,  though  life  is  still  merely  endurance,  the  influence 
of  Walter  and  yourself  may  impart  an  interest  to  it.  If 
not,  and  if  weary  years  of  a  strange  sorrow  are  to  call 
for  sacrifice  and  forbearance  on  your  part,  and  that  your 
otherwise  full  cup  of  happiness  must  have  this  infusion 
of  bitter,  it  is  but  another  form  of  the  common  lot.  It 


486  WALTER  THORNLEY,  ETC. 

has  been  well  said  that '  the  truest  symbol  of  human  life 
will  ever  be  a  cross  encircled  with  roses.' 

"  Keceive  the  first,  my  Eleanor,  with  a  meek  and  quiet 
spirit,  and  the  fragrance  and  beauty  of  the  last  shall  be 
shed  over  your  life  and  memory !  Ever  yours, 

"M.  G.  GBAFTON." 


THE  END. 


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TENT     LIFE 


THE    HOLY    LAND 

BY   WILLIAM    C.   PRIME, 

Author  of  "The  Old  House  by  the  River,11  "Later  Years,"  &c. 
Illustrations.     12tno,  Muslin,  $1  25. 


A  thoroughly  enjoyable  work  ;  the  free,  unembarassed  expression  of  real  feel 
ing.  Now  the  tones  are  musical  with  the  echoes  of  a  happy  home,  now  deep  and 
•olemn  with  a  heaven-born  thought.  Now  we  have  a  pleasant  memory,  now  a 
bounding  hope,  and  now  a  mingled  strain,  half  joyous  and  half  sorrowful. 
Quaint  and  unhackneyed,  at  one  moment  almost  merry,  at  another,  sad  even  to 
tears;  genuine,  earnest,  heartfelt  is  this  Tent  Life  in"  the  Holy  Land. — Boston 
Journal. 

He  need  not  fear  to  stand  comparison  with  the  Eothen  of  Kinglake. — Baltimore 
Patriot. 

What  we  especially  admire  in  Mr.  Prime  ie,  that  when  he  feels,  he  is  not 
ashamed  to  show  his  emotion.  He  invests  every  thing  he  describes  with  a  new 
interest.  The  reader  sees  what  he  sees,  and,  as  it  were,  through  his  eyes,  and  he 
transfers  with  equal  facility  his  own  emotions  and  feelings  to  the  hearts  of  his 
readers. — Knickerbocker. 

The  pleasantest  book  of  Eastern  travel  we  have  ever  read. — Concord  Patriot. 

The  realms  of  fiction  give  hardly  any  thing  more  fascinating. — Universalist 
Quarterly  Review. 

Remarkable  books,  which  every  one  will  wish  to  read. — N.  Y.  Observer. 

Worthy  to  rank  with  any  book  of  travel  of  the  age. — Leader. 

Mr.  Prime  was  born  a  poet  and  a  traveler. — Country  Gentleman. 

The  Tent  Life  is  a  gem.— N.  O.  Christian  Advocate. 

A  mere  vivid  and  life-like  impression  of  Holy  Land  than  any  other  we  have 
ever  read. — Detroit  Tribune. 

Fascinating  and  interesting.—  Albany  Knickerbocker. 

Unusually  spirited  and  captivating. — $.  O.  Crescent. 
•  He  writes  glowingly.— A".  Y.  Commercial  Advertiser. 

Full  of  enthusiasm,  vigor,  and  unaffected  sentiment.  —  Russell's  Magazine 
(Charleston,  S.  C.) 

Mr.  Prime  is  a  man  of  genius  by  God's  gift,  a  gentleman  by  birth  and  in 
stincts,  and  an  accomplished  scholar  by  education.  *  *  *  In  one  respect  these 
volumes  are  invaluable.  They  are  a  complete  guide  for  all  Eastern  travelers, 
and  ought  to  be  the  vade  mecum  of  those  who  travel  that  route.—  Vindicator. 

A  freshness  of  language  and  a  vividness  of  imagery  that  charm  while  they  in 
struct  the  reader. — Christian  Intelligencer. 

Mr.  Prime  controverts  many  of  Dr.  Robinson's  positions  in  reference  to  locali 
ties  in  Palestine,  and  his  work  is  valuable  for  this,  and  not  only  for  its  sketches 
of  customs,  scenery,  and  personal  adventure. — Peterson's  Magazine. 

This  volume  would  be  of  great  use  and  interest  in  Sabbath  School  libraries, 
and  its  lively  style  would  not  fail  to  interest  children.  Mr.  Prime  has  a  most 
happy  talent  of  enlivening  his  readers. — Journal  and  Messenger. 

All  classes  of  readers  will  find  something  to  interest  them  in  these  charming 
volumes.  No  previous  tourist  has  returned  with  richer  spoils. — Homestead. 

Published  by  HARPER    &   BROTHERS, 

Franklin    Square,  New  York. 


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BOAT  LIFE 


EGYPT    AND    NUBIA. 

BY   WILLIAM    0.   PKIME, 

Author  of  " The  Old  House  by  the  River"  and  "Later  Years." 
Illustrations.     12mo,  Muslin,  $1  25. 


This  is  a  book  of  travels  worth  reading.  The  author  is  a  man  of  education, 
imagination,  mental  and  physical  health,  elevation,  and  fun.  We  speak  strong 
ly  but  advisedly.  Boat  Life  in  Egypt  is  so  different  from  most  of  the  travel- 
books  that  we  have  lately  seen. — Boston  Post. 

It  was  not  to  womanly  grace  alone  that  he  devoted  his  veneration.  He  loves 
elaborate  vases,  aerial  architecture,  enamels,  cameos,  and  legends,  and  found 
luxury  in  the  starlight  of  the  Nile.  On  the  river  he  dreams  of  Cleopatra  and 
the  keel  of  her  golden  barge  grating  the  golden  sands. — Athenceum  (London.) 

We  never  read  any  work  of  Eastern  Life  and  Travel  which  has  given  us  so 
much  pleasure  as  this. — New  Hampshire  State  Gazette. 

Since  the  publication  of  Stephens's  record  nothing  has  appeared  so  satisfactory. 
— Charleston  Courier. 

One  of  its  most  striking  qualities  is  its  decided  vein  of  dry  humor  and  spicy 
incident. — Hartford  Press. 

Its  vivid  sketches  are  from  the  hands  of  a  master. — Christian  Observer. 

The  ripe,  classical  mind  of  Mr.  Prime  has  enriched  these  pages  with  gems. — 
Day  Book. 

Endued  with  that  same  charm  which  encircles  every  thing  his  pen  dwells 
upon. — Providence  Post. 

Full  of  illustrations  of  classic  and  sacred  writers. — Journal  and  Messenger. 

We  give  this  book  an  honored  place  in  our  home  library. — Christian  Freeman. 

It  shows  the  hand  of  a  ripe  scholar,  the  perseverance  of  a  genuine  antiquary. 
— Washington  States. 

A  most  welcome  book,  from  the  graphic  and  graceful  pen  of  William  C.  Prime. 
There  is  no  mistake  and  no  doubt  about  this  book  of  travels.— Springfield  Re 
publican. 

Mr.  Prime  is  one  of  the  best  travelers  and  writers  of  travel  of  the  present  cen 
tury.  —Philadelphia  Bulletin. 

Clergymen  and  scholars  will  find  the  book  worth  all  other  modern  travels  as 
a  compendium  of  Egyptian  learning,  and  all  who  love  to  travel  with  a  spirited, 
lively,  adventurous  traveler  will  enjoy  reading  it.— N.  Y.  Observer. 

He  writes  vigorously  ;  he  loves  1m  subject ;  he  is  an  artist  and  a  scholar ;  and, 
next  to  making  the  journey  itself,  is  the  pleasure  of  looking  at  the  grand  and 
beautiful  things  of  the  land  of  the  Ptolemies  and  the  Pharaohs  through  the 
mind's  eye  of  so  clever  and  critical,  yet  genial  an  observer. — Boston  Traveler. 

This  is  a  charming  book — *  *  a  portraiture  of  life  as  it  exists  at  the  present 
time  in  the  Orient.  *  *  The  advice  to  travelers  visiting  Egypt  alone  will  be 
found  to  be  worth  fourfold  what  is  charged  for  the  volume  to  any  one  about  to 
undertake  the  journey.  We  fully  agree  with  the  Journal  of  Commerce  that 
those  who  have  followed  Mr.  Prime  in  former  daya  through  the  forest  and  be 
side  the  stream,  will  not  be  less  delighted  with  his  wanderings  in  the  lands  of 
Patriarchs  and  Pharaohs. — Boston  Transcript, 

Published  by  HARPER  &  BROTHERS, 

Franklin  Square,  New  York. 


M.  LIVINGSTONE'S  TRAVELS. 

Missionary  Travels  and  Researches  in  South  Africa;  including  a 
Sketch  of  Sixteen  Years'  Residence  in  the  Interior  of  Africa,  and 
a  Journey  from  the  Cape  of  Good  Hope  to  Loando  on  the  West 
Coast ;  thence  across  the  Continent,  down  the  River  Zambesi,  to 
the  Eastern  Ocean.  By  DAVID  LIVINGSTONE,  LL.D.,  D.C.L. 
Two  Maps  by  AUROWSMITII,  a  Portrait  on  Steel,  and  numerous 
Illustrations.  New  Edition,  with  Copious  Index.  One  Volume, 
Svo,  Price  $3  00. 


NOTICE. 

Messrs.  HARPER  &  BROTHERS  take  this  opportunity  of  cautioning  the  public 
against  several  spurious  publications,  which,  by  artful  advertisements,  are  made 
to  appear  as  though  emanating  from  Dr.  Livingstone.  They  are  authorised  to 
.say  that  Dr.  Livingstone  repudiates  them  entirely,  and  wishes  it  to  be  generally 
known  that  the  present  work  is  the  only  autlientic  narrative  of  his  Adventures 
and,Travels  in  Africa. 

A  book  which,  before  it  has  been  ten  days  in  the  hands  of  the  public,  will 
have  been  perused  by  perhaps  30,000  readers — a  book  second  only  to  Lord  Mac- 
aulay's  History  of  England  in  the  inordinate  extent  of  its  circulation.  No  won 
der — it  addresses  itself  to  large  and  numerous  classes — the  great  religious  world, 
the  commercial  world,  the  scientific. — Literary  Gazette. 

The  book  is  one  of  the  most  captivating  description  ;  in  style  simple,  clear,  and 
graphic,  and  in  matter  such  as  no  other  living  traveler's  experience  could  afford. 
From  the  beginning  to  the  end  of  the  volume  there  is  not  a  page  that  does  not 
compel  the  attention,  not  a  page  that  does  not  offer  something  novel.  It  is  a 
wonder-book  all  through. — N.  Y.  Courier  and  Enquirer. 

This  remarkable  narrative,  distinguished  throughout  by  the  modesty  charac 
teristic  of  true  merit.  Clear,  concise,  unaffected,  and  fluent,  it  charms  the  read 
er,  and  bears  him  along  irresistibly,  securing  his  attention  from  first  to  last.— . 
N.  Y.  Commercial  Advertiser. 

At  once  scientific,  literary,  and  religious,  it  deserves  to  be  read  and  studied  by 
all  classes. — Boston  Post. 

A  new  chapter  in  the  history  of  the  world. — Boston  Leader. 

Since  the  days  of  Mandeville,  Marco  Polo,  and  Captain  Cooke,  no  one  person 
uas  traversed  a  more  extended  theatre  of  travel,  or  added  more  to  the  great  dis 
coveries  of  the  world  than  Dr.  Livingstone.  The  work  combines  the  dignity  of 
scientific  research  with  thrilling  narratives  of  personal  adventure. — Richmond 
Enquirer. 

The  African  Columbus  has  broken  the  egg,  and  let  the  world  into  his  secret. 
What  he  has  achieved,  and  endured,  and  conquered;  the  witchcraft  which,  for 
fiixteen  years,  he  has  used  against  a  vertical  sun  and  a  malign  climate — how  he 
has  run  the  gauntlet  of  carnivores  and  pachyderms,  and  ophidia — how  he  has 
lived  on  roots,  ahd  locusts,  and  frogs,  and  moistened  his  mouth  only  with  rain 
or  river  water— how  he  has  striven  with  thirst  and  fever,  with  the  loss  of  letters 
and  the  absence  of  intelligent  companionship — how  he  has  sounded  unknown 
lakes,  broken  through  thorny  jungles,  navigated  unknown  rivers,  opened  to  light 
a  world  teeming  with  floral,  animal,  and  mineral  wonders — obtaining  ingress  for 
science,  for  commerce,  for  religion — and  leading  after  him,  as  the  special  spoils 
of  his  expedition,  a  throng  of  colored  indigeni,  drawn  along  by  no  other  fetters 
eave  of  love  and  admiration.  So  runs  flie  story  of  his  book— a  book  not  so  much 
of  travel  and  adventure  as,  in  its  purport  and  spacious  relation,  a  veritable  poem, 
— A  thenceum. 

The  book  will  be  sought  for  and  read  with  more  eagerness  than  a  romance.— 
N.  Y.  Observer. 

Published  by  HARPER   &  BROTHERS, 

Franklin  Square,  New  York. 


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"  The  most  magnificent  contribution  of  Ihe  present  cen 
tury  to  the  cause  of  geographical  knowledge." 

DR.  EARTH'S 
NORTH  AND  CENTRAL  AFRICA. 


Travels  and  Discoveries  in  North  and  Central  Africa.      Being  a 

Journal  of  an   Expedition  undertaken  under  the  Auspices  of 

H.B.M's   Government   in    the   Years    1849-1855.      By   HENRY 

BARTH,  Ph.D.,  D.C.L.,  Fellow  of  the  Royal  Geographical  and 

Asiatic  Societies,  &c.,  &c.     Profusely  and  elegantly  illustrated. 

Complete  in  3  vols.  8vo,  Muslin,  $2  50  a  Volume";  Half  Calf, 

$10  50  a  set. 

Dr.  Earth's  wonderful  travels  approach  the  Equator  from  the  North  as  nearly 
as  Dr.  Livingstone's  from  the  South,  and  thus  show  to  future  travelers  the  field 
which  still  remains  open  for  exploration  and  research. — Vol.  III.,  completing 
the  work,  is  in  the  press,  and  will  be  published  shortly. 

The  researches  of  Dr.  Barth  are  of  the  highest  interest.  Few  men  have  ex 
isted  so  qualified,  both  by  intellectual  ability  and  a  vigorous  bodily  constitution, 
for  the  perilous  part  of  an  African  discoverer  as  Dr.  Barth. — London  Times, 
Sept.  8,  1S57. 

It  richly  merits  all  the  commendation  bestowed  upon  it  by  "the  leading  jour, 
nal  of  Europe." — Corr.  National  Intelligencer. 

Every  chapter  presents  matter  of  more  original  interest  than  an  ordinary  vol. 
ume  of  travels. — London  Leader. 

For  extent  and  variety  of  subjects,  the  volumes  before  us  greatly  surpass  every 
other  work  on  African  travel  with  which  it  has  been  our  fortune  to  meet— Lon= 
don  Athenceum. 

Dr.  Barth  is  the  model  of  an  explorer— patient,  persevering,  and  resolute.— 
London  Spectator. 

No  one  who  wishes  to  know  Africa  can  afford  to  dispense  with  this  work. — Bos 
ton  Traveler. 

A  most  wonderful  record. — Poughkeepsie  Democrat. 

It  is  the  most  magnificent  contribution  of  the  present  century  to  the  cause  of 
geographical  knowledge. — N.  Y.  Evangelist. 

The  most  important  contribution  to  Geographical  Science  that  has  been  mado 
in  our  time.  Thousands  of  readers  in  our  country  will  be  anxious  to  get  poses- 
sion  of  this  treasure  of  knowledge, — JV".  Y.  Observer. 

One  of  the  most  important  works  of  the  kind  which  has  appeared  for  an  age. — 
Lutheran  Observer. 

It  can  not  fail  to  find  its  way  into  the  libraries  of  most  scholars. — Lyncliburg 
Virginian, 

The  personal  details  give  the  work  .great  interest. — Philadelphia  Press. 

Dr.  Earth's  work  is  a  magnificent  contribution  to  geographical  and  ethno 
graphical  science.^V.  Y,  Independent. 

Your  curiosity  is  awakened,  step  by  step,  as  with  diminished  resources  he 
works  his  way  through  fanatical  and  rapacious  tribes,  ready  in  resources  and 
never  desponding,  and  buoyed  up  by  the  unconquerable  desire  to  surpass  his 
predecessors  in  the  thoroughness  and  in  tbe  range  of  his  discoveries. — Albion. 

Among  the  most  wonderful  achievements  of  modern  times Western  Christian 

Advocate. 

A  most  valuable  contribution  to  the  standard  literature  of  the  world. — Troy 
Times. 

Published  by  HARPER    &    BROTHERS, 

Franklin   Square,  New  York. 


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LA    PLATA: 

THE  ARGENTINE  CONFEDERATION, 

AND 

PARAGUAY. 

Being  a  Narrative  of  the  Exploration  of  the  Tributaries  of  the  River 
La  Plata  and  Adjacent  Countries,  during  the  Years  1853,  '54,  '55, 
and  '56,  under  the  orders  of  the  -United  States  Government. 

BY  THOMAS  J.  PAGE,  U.S.K, 

Commander  of  the  Expedition. 

One  Volume  Large  Octavo,  with  Map  and  numerous  Illustrations. 
Muslin,  Three  Dollars. 

This  Volume  contains  the  Official  Narrative  of  one  of  the  most  important  ex 
peditions  ever  sent  out  by  our  Government.  Early  in  1853  the  steamer  Water 
Witch  was  placed  under  the  command  of  Lieutenant  PAGE,  with  instructions  to 
explore  the  Rivers  of  La  Plata,  and  report  upon  their  navigability  and  adapta 
tion  to  commerce.  Lieutenant  PAGE  executed  his  commission  with  rare  fidelity 
and  intelligence,  and  has  embodied  the  results  in  this  volume.  The  explora 
tions  described  in  the  Narrative  embrace  an  extent  of  3600  miles  of  river  naviga 
tion,  and  4400  miles  of  journey  by  land  in  Paraguay  and  the  Argentine  Confed 
eration.  The  River  Paraguay  alone  was  found  to  be  navigable,  at  low  water,  by 
a  steamer  drawing  nine  feet,  for  more  than  two  thousand  miles  from  the  ocean. 
The  basin  of  La  Plata  is  almost  equal  in  extent  to  that  of  the  Mississippi,  and 
not  inferior  in  salubrity  of  climate  and  fertility  of  soil,  while  the  head  waters  of 
its  rivers  penetrate  the  richest  mineral  provinces  of  Brazil  and  Bolivia.  The 
products  of  this  region  must  find  their  outlet  through  the  River  La  Plata.  The 
population  numbers  scarcely  one  person  to  a  square  mile,  but  great  inducements 
to  emigration  are  now  offered  by  the  Argentine  Confederation.  The  commerce 
of  the  country,  already  considerable,  is  capable  of  immediate  and  almost  indef 
inite  increase. 

Lieutenant  PAGE'S  Narrative  contains  ample  information  respecting  the  soil, 
climate,  and  productions  of  the  country,  and  the  manners,  habits,  and  customs  of 
the  people.  A  full  account  is  given  of  the  unfortunate  rupture  with  Paraguay, 
showing  conclusively  that  the  attack  upon  the  Water  Witch  was  altogether  un 
warranted,  and  the  allegations  by  which  President  Lopez  attempted  to  justify  it 
entirely  destitute  of  truth.  An  interesting  and  valuable  account  of  the  Jesuit 
Missions  in  La  Plata  is.  appended  to  the  Narrative. 

The  Illustrations  comprise  the  accurate  Map  of  the  Country  prepared  by  the 
rrders  of  our  Government,  Portraits  of  Ilrquiza,  Lopez,  Francia,  and  Loyola, 
i  hd  numerous  Engravings  of  Scenery,  Character,  and  Incident, 

Published  ly  HARPER  &  BROTHERS, 

Franklin  Square,  New  York. 


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part  of  the  United  States,  on  receiot  of  $3  00. 


"  They  do  honor  to  American  Literature,  and  would  do 
honor  to  the  Literature  of  any  Country  in  the  World." 

THE   RISE   OF 
THE    DUTCH    REPUBLIC. 

&  ^istorn. 
BY  JOHN  LOTHKOP  MOTLEY. 

New  Edition.  With  a  Portrait  of  WILLIAM  OF  ORANGE.  3  vols. 
Svo,  Muslin,  $6  00;  Sheep,  $6  75;  Half  Calf  antique.  $9  00; 
Half  Calf,  extra  gilt,  $10  50. 

Wo  recrard  this  work  as  the  best  contribution  to  modem  history  that  has  yet 
Iwon  made  by  an  American. — Methodist.  Quarterly  Reticle. 

The  "History  of  the  Dutch  Republic"  is  a  great  gift  to  us;  but  the  heart  and 
earnestness  that  beat  through  all  its  pages  are  greater,  for  they  give  us  most 
timely  inspiration  to  vindicate  the  true  ideas  of  our  country,  and  to  compose  an 
able  history  of  our  own. — Christian  Examiner  (Boston). 

This  work  bears  on  its  face  the  evidences  of  scholarship  and  research.  The 
arrangement  is  clear  and  effective ;  the  style  energetic,  lively,  and  often  brilliant. 
*  *  *  Mr.  Motley's  instructive  volumes  will,  we  trust,  have  a  circulation  commen 
surate  with  their  interest  and  value. — Protestant  Episcopal  Quarterly  Review. 

To  the  illustration  of  this  most  interesting  period  Mr.  Motley  has  brought  the 
matured  powers  of  a  vigorous  and  brilliant  mind,  and  the  abundant  fruits  of  pa- 
'ient  and  judicious  study  and  deep  reflection.  The  result  is,  one  of  the  most 
important  contributions  to  historical  literature  that  have  been  made  in  this  coun 
try. — Sorth  American  JRerieic. 

We  would  conclude  this  notice  by  earnestly  recommending  our  readers  to  pro 
cure  for  themselves  this  truly  great  and  admirable  work,  by  the  production  of 
which  the  auther  has  conferred  no  less  honor  upon  his  country  than  he  has  won 
praise  and  fame  for  himself,  and  than  which,  we  can  assure  them,  thev  can  find 
nothing  more  attractive  or  interesting  within  the  compass  of  modern  literature. 
— Evangelical  Review. 

It  is  not  often  that  we  have  the  pleasure  of  commending  to  the  attention  of  the 
1-iver  of  books  a  work  of  such  extraordinary  aud  unexceptionable  excellence  aa 
lias  one. — Universalist  Quarterly  Review. 

There  are  an  elevation  and  a  classic  polish  in  these  volumes,  and  a  felicity  of 
grouping  and  of  portraiture,  which  invest  the  subject  with  the  attractions  "of  a 
living  and  stirring  episode  in  the  grand  historic  drama.— Southern  Methodist 
Quarterly  Review. 

The  author  writes  with  a  genial  glow  and  love  of  his  subject.— Presbyterian 
Quarterly  Revicic. 

Mr.  Motley  is  a  sturdy  Republican  and  n  hearty  Protestant  His  style  is  live 
ly  and  picturesque,  and  his  work  is  an  honor  and  an  important  accession  to  our 
national  literature. — Church  Review. 

Mr.  Motley's  work  is  an  important  one.  the  result  of  profound  research,  sincere 
convictions,  sound  principles,  and  manly  sentiments;  and  even  those  who  are 
most  familiar  with  the  history  of  the  period  will  find  in  it  a  fresh  and  vivid  ad 
dition  to  their  previous  knowledge.  It  does  honor  to  American  literature,  and 
would  do  honor  to  the  literature  of  any  country  in  the  world. — Edinburgh  Re 
view. 

A  serious  chasm  in  English  historical  literature  has  been  (by  this  book)  very 
remarkably  filled.  *  *  *  A  history  as  complete  as  industry  and  genius  can  make 
it  now  Hes'before  us,  of  the  first  twenty  years  of  the  revolt  of  the  United  Prov 
inces.  •  •  *  All  the  essentials  of  a  great  writer  Mr.  Motley  eminently  possesses. 
His  mind  is  broad,  his  industry  unwearied.  In  power  of  dramatic  description 
?:o  modern  historian,  except,  perhaps,  Mr.  Carl  vie,  surpasses  him,  and  in  analy 
sis  of  character  he  is  elaborate  and  distinct — Westminster  Rfvieic. 


MOTLEY'S    RISE    OF    THE    DUTCH    KEi'UliLIC. 

It  is  a  work  of  real  historical  value,  the  result  of  accurate  criticism,  written 
in  a  liberal  spirit,  and  from  first  to  last  deeply  interesting. — Athenaeum. 

The  style  is  excellent,  clear,  vivid,  eloquent ;  and  the  industry  with  which 
original  sources  have  been  investigated,  and  through  which  new  light  has  been 
Bhcd  over  perplexed  incidents  and  characters,  entitles  Mr.  Motley  to  a  high  rank 
in  the  literature  of  an  age  peculiarly  rich  in  history.— North  British  Iteview. 

It  abounds  in  new  information,  and,  as  a  first  work,  commands  a  very  cordial 
recognition,  not  merely  of  the  promise  it  gives,  but  of  the  extent  and  importance 
of  the  labor  actually  performed  on  it. — London  Examiner. 

Mr.  Motley's  "  History"  is  a  work  of  which  any  country  might  be  proud. — 
Press  (London). 

Mr.  Motley's  History  will  be  a  standard  book  of  reference  in  historical  litera 
ture. — London  Literary  Gazette. 

Mr.  Motley  has  searched  the  whole  range  of  historical  documents  necessary  to 
the  composition  of  his  work. — London  Leader. 

This  is  really  a  great  work.  It  belongs  to  the  class  of  books  in  which  we 
range  our  Grotes,  Milmans,  Merivales,  and  Macaulays,  as  the  glories  of  English 
literature  in  the  department  of  history.  *  *  *  Mr.  Motley's  gifts  as  a  historical 
writer  are  among  the  highest  and  rarest. — Nonconformist  (London). 

Mr.  Motley's  volumes  will  well  repay  perusal.  *  *  *  For  his  learning,  his  liberal 
tone,  and  his  generous  enthusiasm,  we  heartily  commend  him,  and  bid  him  good 
speed  for  the  remainer  of  his  interesting  and  heroic  narrative. — Saturday  Review. 

The  story  is  a  noble  one,  and  is  worthily  treated.  *  *  *  Mr.  Motley  has  had  the 
patience  to  unravel,  with  unfailing  perseverance,  the  thousand  intricate  plot?  of 
the  adversaries  of  the  Prince  of  Orange;  but  the  details  and  the  literal  extracts 
which  he  has  derived  from  original  documents,  and  transferred  to  his  pages, 
give  a  truthful  color  and  a  picturesque  effect,  which  are  especially  charming. — 
London  Daily  News. 

M.  Lothrop  Motley  dans  son  magnifique  tableau  de  la  formation  de  notre  R6- 
publique. — G.  GEOEN  VAN  PBISSTEEEE. 

Our  accomplished  countryman,  Mr.  ,T.  Lothrop  Motley,  who,  during  the  last 
five  years,  for  the.  better  prosecution  of  his  labors,  has  established  his  residence 
in  the  neighborhood  of  the  scenes  of  his  narrative.  No  one  acquainted  with  the 
fine  powers  of  mind  possessed  by  this  scholar,  and  the  earnestness  with  which  he 
has  devoted  himself  to  the  task,  can  doubt  that  he  will  do  full  justice  to  his  im 
portant  but  difficult  subject — W.  H.  PBESCOIT. 

The  production  of  such  a  work  as  this  astonishes,  while  it  gratifies  the  pride 
of  the  American  reader. — N.  Y.  Observer. 

The  "Rise  of  the  Dutch  Republic"  at  once,  and  by  acclamation,  takes  its 
place  by  the  "  Decline  and  Fall  of  the  Roman  Empire,"  as  a  work  which,  wheth 
er  for  research,  substance,  or  style,  will  never -be  superseded. — N.  Y.  Albion. 

A  work  upon  which  all  who  read  the  English  language  may  congratulate 
themselves.—  New  Yorker  Handels  Zeitung. 

Mr.  Motley's  place  is  now  (alluding  to  this  book)  with  Hallam  and  Lord  Ma- 
ton,  Alison  and  Macaulay  in  the  Old  Country,  and  with  Washington  Irving, 
Prescott,  and  Bancroft  in  this.—  N.  Y.  Times. 

THE  authority,  in  the  English  tongue,  for  the  history  of  the  period  and  people 
to  which  it  refers. — N.  Y.  Courier  and  Enquirer. 

This  work  at  once  places  the  author  on  the  list,  of  American  historians  which 
has  been  so  signally  illustrated  by  the  names  of  Irving,  Prescott,  Bancroft,  and 
Hildreth.—  Boston  Times. 

The  work  is  a  noble  one,  and  a  most  desirable  acquisition  to  our  historical  lit 
erature. — Mobile  Advertiser. 

Such  a  work  is  an  honor  to  its  author,  to  his  country,  and  to  the  age  in  which 
it  was  written. — Ohio  Farmer. 


Published  by  HARPER  &  BROTHERS, 

Franklin  Square,  New  York. 


HABPEK  &  BBOTHEBS  will  send  the  above  Work  by  Mail  (postage  paid  (for  any 
distance  in  the  United  States  under  3000  miles),  on  receipt  of  the  Money. 


HISTORY 

OF    HIE 

UNITED  STATES  OF  AMERICA. 

BY  EICHABD  HILDKETH. 


FIRST  SERIES.— From  the  First  Settlement  of  the  Country  to  the 
Adoption  of  the  Federal  Constitution.  3  vols.  Svo,  Muslin, 
$6  00;  Sheep,  $6  75;  Half  Calf,  $7  50. 

SECOND  SERIES.— From  the  Adoption  of  the  Federal  Constitution 
to  the  End  of  the  Sixteenth  Congress.  3  vols.  Svo,  Muslin, 
$6  00;  Sheep,  $6  75;  Half  Calf,  $7  50. 

The  first  attempt  at  a  complete  history  of  the  United  States.  The  reader  who 
desires  to  inform  himself  in  all  the  particulars,  military  or  political,  of  the 
American  Revolution,  will  find  that  they  have  been  scrupulously  collected  for 
him  by  Mr.  Hildreth.—  London  Athcnceum. 

It  has  condensed  into  consecutive  narrative  the  substance  of  hundreds  of 
volumes.— London  Literary  Gazette. 

The  history  of  the  Revolution  is  clearly  and  succinctly  told.— A".  A.  Rcriac. 

Mr.  Hildreth' s  sources  of  information  have  evidently  been  ample  and  various, 
and  intelligently  examined,  his  materials  arranged  with  a  just  idea  of  their  im 
portance  in  the  story,  while  his  judgments  are  well  considered,  unbiassed,  and 
reliable.  His  style  is  clear,  forcible,  and  sententious.— Christian  Register. 

Mr.  Hildreth  is  a  very  concise,  vigorous,  and  impartial  writer.  His  entire 
history  is  very  accurate  and  interesting,  and  well  worthy  a  place  in  every  Amer 
ican  library. — Louisville  Journal. 

He  is  laborious,  conscientious,  and  accurate.  As  a  methodical  and  very  full 
narrative,  its  value  is  undoubted. — Xeic  Orleans  Bee. 

The  calmness  and  ability  with  which  he  has  presented  his  narrative  will  give 
his  work  rank  among  the  standard  histories  of  the  country.— Watchman  an'i 
Observer. 

*  *  We  have,  therefore,  read  his  book  with  distrust.  But  we  are  bound  in 
candor  to  say  that  it  seems  to  us  valuable  and  very  fair.  Mr.  Hildreth  has  con 
fined  himself  to,  as  far  as  possible,  a  dispassionate  collection  of  facts  from  the 
documents  he  has  consulted  and  copied,  and  his  work  fills  a  void  that  has  pensi- 
bly  been  felt  in  private  libraries.  As  a  documentary  history  of  the  United 
States,  we  are  free  to  commend  it. — A".  Y.  Freeman's  Journal. 

Mr.  Hildreth  has  rendered  an  essential  and  permanent  service. — Providence 
Daily  Journal. 

The  volumes  will  be  regarded  as  indispensable— it  will  take  its  place  as  a 
standard  work.  The  author's  style  is  dignified,  perspicuous,  and  vivacious. — 
Church  Review. 

The  work  is  very  complete.  The  marginal  dates,  the  two  indexes,  and  run 
ning  heads  at  the  tops  of  the  pages,  render  it  very  convenient  for  reference, 
points  which  scholars  will  find  all  important  for  utility, — Xcicark  Sentinel  of 
Freedom. 


HILDKETH'S  HISTORY  OF  THE  UNITED  STATES. 

Written  with  candor,  brevity,  fidelity  to  facts,  and  simplicity  of  style  and  man- 
ner,aud  forms  a  welcome  addition  to  the  library  of  the  nation. — Prot.  Churchman 

Mr.  Hildreth  is  a  bold  and  copious  writer.  His  work  is  valuable  for  the  im 
mense  amount  of  material  it  embodies. — De  Bow's  Review  of  the  Southern  and 
Western  States. 

We  may  safely  commend  Mr.  Hildreth' s  work  as  written  in  an  excellent  style 
and  containing  a  vast  amount  of  valuable  information. — Albany  Argus. 

His  style  is  vigorously  simple.  It  has  the  virtue  of  perspicuity Zion's 

Herald. 

We  value  it  on  account  of  its  impartiality.  We  have  found  nothing  to  indi 
cate  the  least  desire  on  the  part  of  the  author  to  exalt  or  debase  any  man  or  any 
party.  His  very  patriotism,  though  high-principled  and  sincere  is  sober  and 
discriminate,  and  appears  to  be  held  in  strong  check  by  the  controlling  recollec 
tion  that  he  is  writing  for  posterity,  and  that  if  the  facts  which  he  publishes 
will  not  honor  his  country  and  his  countrymen,  fulsome  adulation  will  not  add 
to  their  glory. — N.  Y.  Commercial  Advertiser. 

We  are  confident  that  when  the  merits  of  this  history  come  to  be  known  and 
appreciated,  it  will  be  extensively  regarded  as  decidedly  superior  to  any  thing 
that  before  existed  on  American  history,  and  as  a  valuable  contribution  to 
American  authorship.  These  stately  volumes  will  be  an  ornament  to  any  libra 
ry,  and  no  intelligent  American  can  afford  to  be  without  the  work.  We  have 
nobly  patronized  the  great  English  history  of  the  age,  let  us  not  fail  to  appre 
ciate  and  patronize  an  American  history  so  respectable  and  valuable  as  this  cer 
tainly  is. — Biblical  Repository  (Bibliotheca  Sacra). 

This  work  professes  only  to  deal  in  facts;  it  is  a  book  of  records;  it  puts  to 
gether  clearly,  conf-ecutively,  and,  we  believe,  with  strict  impartiality,  the  events 
of  American  history.  The  work  indicates  patient,  honest,  and  careful  research, 
systematic  arrangement,  and  lucid  exposition. — Home  Journal. 

To  exhibit  the  progress  of  the  country  from  infancy  to  maturity;  to  show 
the  actual  state  of  the  people,  the  real  character  of  their  laws  and  institutions, 
and  the  true  designs  of  their  leading  men,  at  different  periods,  and  to  relate  a 
sound,  unvarnished  tale  of  our  early  history,  has  been  his  design ;  and  we  are 
free  to  acknowledge  that  it  has  been  executed  with  marked  ability  and  triumph 
ant  success.  Every  lover  of  impartial  history  will  accord  to  Mr.  Hildreth  his 
due  meed  of  praise  for  the  able  and  honest  manner  in  which  he  has  given  the 
true  history  of  the  United  States.—  Pennsylvanian. 

This  work  is  full  of  detail,  bears  marks  of  care  and  research,  and  is  written 
under  the  guidance  of  clear  sight  and  good  judgment  rather  than  of  theory, 
philosophical  or  historical,  or  of  prejudice  of  any  sort  whatever.  We  trust  that 
it  will  be  widely  read.— N.  Y.  Courier  and  Enquirer. 

We  pronounce  it  unsurpassed  as  a  full,  clear,  and  truthful  history  of  our 
country  so  far.  We  rejoice  that  a  work  so  important  to  our  nation  has  been  so 
ably  performed. — Literary  American. 

Interesting,  valuable,  and  very  attractive.  It  is  written  in  a  style  eminently 
clear  and  attractive,  and  presents  the  remarkable  history  which  it  records  in  a 
form  of  great  simplicity  and  with  graphic  force.  There  is  in  it  no  attempt  to 
palliate  what  is  wrong,  or  to  conceal  what  is  true.  It  is  a  life-like  and  reliable 
history  of  the  most  remarkable  series  of  events  in  the  annals  of  the  world. — K. 
Y.  Journal  of  Commerce. 

It  is  a  valuable  acquisition  to  American  literature. — Baltimore  American. 

The  history  of  our  country  with  a  scrupulous  regard  to  truth. — Buffalo  Courier. 

We  believe  this  to  be  a  truthful,  judicious,  and  valuable  history,  worthy  of 
general  acceptation. — Philadelphia  North  American. 

The  first  complete  history  of  our  country. — Chronotype. 


Published  ly  HARPER  &  BROTHERS, 

Franklin  Square,  New  York. 


*»*  HARPF.R  &  BROTHERS  will  send  the  above  Work  by  Mail,  postage  paid  (for 
any  distance  in  the  United  States  under  3000  miles),  on  receipt  of  the  Money. 


CURTIS'S    HISTORY 

OF  THE 

CONSTITUTION. 


HISTORY  OF  THE  ORIGIN,  FORMATION,  AND  ADOP 
TION  OF  THE  CONSTITUTION  OF  THE  UNITED 
STATES.  By  GEORGE  TICKNOB  CURTIS.  Complete  in  2  vols. 
8vo,  Muslin,  $4  00  ;  Law  Sheep,  $5  00 ;  Half  Calf,  $6  00. 

A  book  so  thorough  as  this  in  the  comprehension  of  its  subject,  go  impartial 
in  the  summing  up  of  its  judgments,  so  well  considered  in  its  method,  and  so 
truthful  in  its  matter,  may  safely  challenge  the  most  exhaustive  criticism.  The 
Constitutional  History  of  our  country  has  not  before  been  made  the  subject  of  a 
special  treatise.  We  may  congratulate  ourselves  that  an  author  has  been  found 
BO  capable  to  do  full  justice  to  it ;  for  that  the  work  will  take  its  rank  among  the 
received  text-books  of  our  political  literature  will  be  questioned  by  no  one  who 
has  given  it  a  careful  perusal. — National  Intelligencer. 

We  know  of  no  person  who  is  better  qualified  (now  that  the  late  Daniel  Web 
ster  is  no  more),  to  undertake  this  important  history. — Boston  Journal. 

It  will  take  its  place  among  the  classics  of  American  literature. — Boston  Cour 
ier. 

The  author  has  given  years  to  the  preliminary  studies,  and  nothing  has  es 
caped  him  in  the  patient  and  conscientious  researches  to  which  he  has  devoted 
so  ample  a  portion  of  time.  Indeed,  the  work  has  been  so  thoroughly  performed 
that  it  will  never  need  to  be  done  over  again ;  for  the  sources  have  been  exhaust 
ed,  and  the  materials  put  together  with  so  much  judgment  and  artistic  skill  that 
taste  and  the  sense  of  completeness  are  entirely  satisfied. — N.  Y.  Daily  Times. 

A  most  important  and  valuable  contribution  to  the  historical  and  political  lit 
erature  of  the  United  States.  All  publicists  and  students  of  public  law  will  be 
grateful  to  Mr.  Curtis  for  the  diligence  and  assiduity  with  which  he  has  wrought 
out  the  great  mine  of  diplomatic  lore  in  which  the  foundations  of  the  American 
Constitution  are  laid,  and  for  the  light  he  has  thrown  on  his  wide  and  arduous 
subject. — London  Morning  Chronicle. 

To  trace  the  history  of  the  formation  of  the  Constitution,  and  explain  the  cir 
cumstances  of  the  time  and  country  out  of  which  its  various  provisions  grew,  is  a. 
task  worthy  of  the  highest  talent.  To  have  performed  that  task  in  a  satisfacto 
ry  manner  is  an  achievement  with  which  an  honorable  ambition  may  well  Lc 
gratified.  We  can  honestly  say  that  in  our  opinion  Mr.  Curtis  has  fairly  won 
this  distinction.—  N.  Y.  Courier  and  Enquirer. 

We  have  seen  no  history  which  surpasses  it  in  the  essential  qualities  of  a 
standard  work  destined  to  hold  a  permanent  place  in  the  impartial  judgment  of 
future  generations. — Boston  Traveler. 

Should  the  second  volume  sustain  the  character  of  the  first,  we  hazard  nothing 
in  claiming  for  the  entire  publication  the  character  of  a  standard  work.  It  will 
furnish  the  only  sure  guide  to  the  interpretation  of  the  Constitution,  by  unfolding 
historically  the  wants  it  was  intended  to  supply,  and  the  evils  which  it  was  in 
tended  to  remedy. — Boston  Daily  Advertiser. 

This  volume  is  an  important  contribution  to  our  constitutional  and  historical 
literature.  *  *  *  Every  true  friend  of  the  Constitution  will  gladly  welcome  it. 
The  author  has  presented  a  narrative  clear  and  interesting.  It  evinces  careful 
research,  skillful  handling  of  material,  lucid  statement,  and  a  desire  to  write  in 
a  tone  and  manner  worthy  of  the  great  theme. — Boston  Post. 

Published  by  HARPER  &  BROTHERS, 

Franklin  Square,  New  York. 


%*  HABPEB  &  BEOTHEBS  will  send  the  above  Work  by  Mail,  postage  paid  (for 
any  distance  in  the  United  States  under  3000  miles),  on  receipt  of  the  Money. 


COMPLETIOJI  OF  QUOTE'S  HISTORY  OF  GREECE. 


A   HISTORY   OF   GREECE, 

FROM  THE  EARLIEST  PERIOD  TO  THE  CLOSE  OF  THE  GENERA 
TION  CONTEMPORARY  WITH  ALEXANDER  THE  GREAT- 

BY  GEORGE  GROTE,  ESQ. 

Vol.  XII.  contains  Portrait,  Maps,  and  Index.     Complete  in  12  vols.  12mo, 
Muslin,  $9  00  ;  Sheep,  $12  00  ;  Half  Calf,  $15  00. 

It  is  not  often  that  a  work  of  such  magnitude  is  undertaken  ;  more  seldom  still 
is  such  a  work  so  perseveringly  carried  on,  and  so  soon  and  yet  so  worthily  ac 
complished.  Mr.  Grote  has  illustrated  and  invested  with  an  entirely  new  signifi 
cance  a  portion  of  the  past  history  of  humanity,  which  he,  perhaps,  thinks  the  most 
splendid  that  has  been,  and  which  all  allow  to  have  been  very  splendid.  He  has  made 
great  Greeks  live  again  before  us,  and  has  enabled  us  to  realize  Greek  modes  of  think 
ing.  He  has  added  a  great  historical  work  to  the  language,  taking  its  place  with 
other  great  histories,  and  yet  not  like  any  of  them  in  the  special  combination  of 
merits  which  it  exhibits  :  scholarship  and  learning  such  as  we  have  been  ac 
customed  to  demand  only  in  Germans ;  an  art  of  grouping  and  narration  different 
from  that  of  Hume,  different  from  that  of  Gibbon,  arid  yet  producing  the  effect  of 
sustained  charm  and  pleasure  ;  a  peculiarly  keen  interest  in  events  of  the  political 
order,  and  a  wide  knowledge  of  the  business  of  politics  ;  and,  finally,  harmonizing 
all,  a  spirit  of  sober  philosophical  generalization  always  tending  to  view  facts 
collectively  in  their  speculative  bearing  as  well  as  to  record  them  individually. 
It  is  at  once  an  ample  and  detailed  narrative  of  the  history  of  Greece,  and  a  lucid 
philosophy  of  Grecian  history. —  London  Athenaeum,  March  8,  1856. 

Mr.  Grote  will  be  emphatically  the  historian  of  the  people  of  Greece. — Dublin 
University  Magazine. 

The  acute  intelligence,  the  discipline,  faculty  of  intellect,  and  the  excellent  eru 
dition  every  one  would  look  for  from  Mr.  Grote  ;  but  they  will  here  also  find  the 
element  which  harmonizes  these,  and  without  which,  on  such  a  theme,  an  orderly 
and  solid  work  could  not  have  been  written. — Examiner. 

A  work  second  to  that  of  Gibbon  alone  in  English  historical  literature.  Mr. 
Grote  gives  the  philosophy  as  well  as  the  facts  ot  history,  and  it  would  be  difficult 
to  find  an  author  combining  in  the  same  degree  the  accurate  learning  of  the  schol 
ar  with  the  experience  of  a  practical  statesman.  The  completion  of  this  great 
work  may  well  be  hailed  with  some  degree  of  national  pride  and  satisfaction. — 
Literary  Gazette,  March  8,  1856. 

The  better  acquainted  any  one  is  with  Grecian  history,  and  with  the  manner  in 
which  that  history  has  heretofore  been  written,  the  higher  will  be  his  estimation 
of  this  work.  Mr.  Grote's  familiarity  both  with  the  great  highways  and  the  ob 
scurest  by-paths  of  Grecian  literature  and  antiquity  has  seldom  been  equaled,  and 
not  often  approached,  in  unlearned  England  ;  while  those  Germans  who  have  ri 
valed  it  have  seldom  possessed  the  quality  which  eminently  characterizes  Mr. 
Grote,  of  keeping  historical  imagination  severely  under  the  restraints  of  evidence. 
The  great  charm  of  Mr.  Grote's  history  has  been  throughout  the  cordial  admira' 
tion  he  feels  for  the  people  whose  acts  and  fortunes  he  has  to  relate.  *  *  We  bid 
Mr.  Grote  farewell ;  heartily  congratulating  him  on  the  conclusion  of  a  work  which 
is  a  monument  of  English  learning,  of  English  clear-sightedness,  and  of  English 
love  of  freedom  and  the  characters  it  produces. — Spectator. 

Endeavor  to  become  acquainted  with  Mr.  Grote,  who  is  engaged  on  a  Greek 
History.  I  expect  a  great  deal  from  this  production.— NIEBUHR,  the  Historian, 
to  Professor  LIEBER. 

Ths  author  has  now  incontestably  won  for  himself  the  title,  not  merely  of  a 
historian,  but  of  the  historian  of  Greece. — Quarterly  Review. 

Mr.  Grote  is,  beyond  all  question,  the  historian  of  Greece,  unrivaled,  so  far  as 
we  know,  in  the  erudition  and  genius  with  which  he  has  revived  the  picture  of  a 
distant  past,  and  brnught  home  every  part  and  feature  of  its  history  to  our  intcl- 
Lc^  ami  our  hearts. — Lond'm  Times. 

For  becoming  dignity  of  style,  unforced  adaptation  of  results  to  principles,  care 
ful  verification  of  theory  by  fact,  and  impregnation  of  fact  by  theory — for  extensive 
and  well-weighed  learning,  employed  with  intelligence  and  taste,  we  have  seen  no 
historical  work  of  modern  times  which  we  would  place  above  Mr.  Grote's  histo 
ry. — Morning  Chronicle. 

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